When she asked him not to touch her any more, he backed off sheepishly and left her alone to her dreams.
II
Rhonwen put her hand again to the dagger she carried hidden in her gown and gave a grim smile. Ancret and Lyulf had come with her and it was almost as if they understood. She put her hand on Lyulf ’s head as Eleyne used to do and the dog looked up and growled a little in his throat.
She was sorry it was the Earl of Fife who had murdered Eleyne. When she had first heard the rumour that he was behind the raid which had destroyed their lives, it had been with shocked disbelief. He was the kind of man she could almost admire. She had waited silently, listening to the gossip which flew through the halls of Lady Lincoln’s castles, and at last she was convinced. Eleyne was dead. The king had ordered masses for her soul and begun to dismantle her estates, but no one was going to pursue Malcolm. No one was going to punish him. Rhonwen made her preparations.
The children were safe. With their mother dead and their father still in the Holy Land, they had been made the king’s wards and were for the time being to be reared by their cousin, the gentle Countess of Lincoln, whom Rhonwen liked and trusted. Besides, they would be safe with Annie.
Unobtrusively one night she had slipped away and set off on her grim journey north.
Before her, Falkland Castle lay in the shadow of the Lomond, the earl’s standard, depicting a mounted knight with a drawn sword, hanging limply from the Great Tower. The gates stood open. She watched a loaded wain creak slowly under the gatehouse, the shadows of the spikes of the raised portcullis falling obliquely across its load as it disappeared inside. It all looked so normal; so peaceful. Yet within the day the earl would be dead and so probably would she. Touching the dagger again, she smiled and walked forward, leading her horse.
The man-at-arms on the gate must have recognised her from her previous visits to Falkland for he did not question her. He merely smiled and waved her in. ‘Where is the earl?’ Her voice was husky with exhaustion.
‘He’s away, but the countess is here, my lady. You’ll find her in her rooms in the Great Tower.’
Rhonwen wanted no truck with Lord Fife’s countess, whoever she might be. She had nerved herself to kill – today.
The man was waving her on and another huge cart was looming in the gateway behind her and suddenly Lyulf was growling in his throat. As she stepped back out of the way of the heavy iron-bound wheels, the hound leaped away from her across the courtyard. Ancret too tore herself from Rhonwen’s restraining hand and followed him.
Rhonwen ran after them, her anger and astonishment at the dogs’ desertion mixed with a small incredulous flicker of hope. She had never seen them run like that before; not for a long time seen them look so eager or so excited.
No one challenged her as she ran up the stairs into the lower chamber of the tower. The dogs had vanished, but she ran on across the room to the stair up to the higher floors. At the doorway to the earl’s chamber she stopped, gasping for breath.
Eleyne was there, her arms around Lyulf ’s great neck, kissing the dog’s head whilst Ancret tried to push between them, licking her hands. It was a long time before she looked up, tears pouring down her face, and saw Rhonwen in the doorway. She straightened and held out her arms. ‘Rhonwen! Joanna? Hawisa? Where are they?’
The shock was so great that Rhonwen could not move, but the terror in Eleyne’s face as she misinterpreted Rhonwen’s silence catapulted her back to reality. ‘They’re safe,
Eleyne smiled. ‘He would not object to Rhonwen.’ She turned to the eager dogs, kissing their heads in turn. ‘Oh, Rhonwen. I can’t believe you are here! I thought you were dead!’ She was crying through her laughter.
‘As I thought you.’ Rhonwen’s voice was strangely flat. ‘What happened to you? The whole world thinks you are dead. King Henry has had masses said for your soul and your lands have been redistributed. The girls have become the king’s wards.’ Her practised eyes ran over Eleyne’s figure. ‘Had you forgotten us?’
Eleyne gave a sob. ‘Forgotten! How can you say that? I was brought here against my will, forced into marriage. Guarded day and night!’
‘You’re married already. How can they force you to marry again?’ Rhonwen asked.
‘Robert is dead!’ Flinging away Rhonwen’s questioning hand Eleyne paced across the floor.
‘Dead, is it?’ Rhonwen’s voice followed her. ‘Then no one in England knows it. They say he is on his way back from Acre.’
There was a long pause.
‘Are you sure?’ Eleyne’s voice was no more than a whisper. Unconsciously her hand had gone to her belly where Malcolm’s child lay, not yet quickened, beneath her ribs.
‘When I took the children from the Lady Dervorguilla at Fotheringhay to Lady Lincoln, who has been made their guardian, she said they had sent letters to him to come back as soon as he could.’
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Eleyne stared at her appalled.
‘My lady.’ Ann Douglas, one of her new companions, had been listening in increasing distress and now she was wringing her hands. ‘It’s not true. What this woman tells you is a lie. You are married before God and the law!’
‘Am I?’ Eleyne was numb. Her joy at realising the children were safe had drained away as the full horror of the truth began to dawn on her. Malcolm’s plan had worked. The whole world thought her dead. Her children had been given to another woman and the king had reclaimed her lands. A wave of fury hit her. She shook off Ann Douglas’s restraining hand.
‘At least now I know the truth! That’s why no one looked for me; no one came to help me. I didn’t believe him! I didn’t believe people would think I was dead.’ She paused. ‘But you must be wrong about Robert. Malcolm would not have married me if he were still alive. He couldn’t have. That would be the most terrible sin.’
He had told her the truth when he said the children were alive; he had told her the truth when he had said that Henry thought her dead. This too must be the truth; it had to be. If it wasn’t, what did it make her and the child she carried?
‘You find that you like Lord Fife after all, do you,
‘Like him!’ Eleyne turned on her furiously. ‘He brought me here as a captive.’
‘You don’t look like a captive now though.’ There had been no guards save at the castle gatehouse.
‘No, because every person in this castle is my guard! She is my guard!’ She flung her arm in Ann’s direction. ‘And she.’ This time it was Emmot. ‘Every time I escaped – and I did – I was brought back. All my letters were intercepted!’ She paced the floor, solemnly followed by the two dogs who pressed close on either side of her. ‘And now I carry his child! What am I to do? Where am I to go?’ The words were a ringing challenge.
Rhonwen walked stiffly to a chair and sat down with a sigh. Perhaps after all she would still need her dagger. But the tension was pouring out of her and she felt limp and exhausted. ‘There is always Aber,’ she said wearily. ‘Young Llywelyn loves you. He would welcome you, you know that.’
Eleyne paused in her pacing. ‘Must I always run back to Aber?’
‘No, my lady!’ Ann caught her wrist. ‘Please, we love you. Your home is here at Falkland now.’
Eleyne shrugged. Only one thing mattered now. ‘Would Malcolm send for my daughters?’
Ann smiled. ‘I think he would do anything if it would make you happy, my lady.’
III
