Donald’s face cleared. He bowed low, with a little flourish of his hand. ‘I am yours to command, lady.’
The picnic had been arranged as a distraction for the king and queen, a relief from the monotony of grey council meetings and the quarrels of the leading members of the court. A clearing had been chosen in the king’s park and spread with cloths, and from dawn baskets of food and wine had been carried out for the feast. Cooking fires had been lit hours before. Musicians, tumblers, troubadours and minstrels were clustered beneath the trees waiting for the guests to appear in all their finery.
It was a hot, airless day. The trees still threw a heavy shade across the grass, though a carpet of crisp golden leaves lay across the parched sward, and the men and women who trooped out of the castle sought it eagerly, seating themselves around the food-laden cloths. The air was loud with talk and laughter and soon the cheerful notes of pipe and drum, harp and fiddle echoed beneath the trees.
Eleyne watched Donald, aware that several other wistful pairs of eyes were fixed on the handsome son of the Earl of Mar. She was amused as the young man piled food on to her manchet, choosing from each great trencher what he considered the most succulent portions. He was wearing a new gown of dark green fabric tied with a simple leather girdle and he had brushed his hair until it shone. His beard was scant, but carefully trimmed, and in the scrip at his belt she guessed there would be another gift. She knew that she should discourage him. She knew that she was playing with fire, but she could not stop herself.
Most of the ladies at the English court played at love. They encouraged their admirers to write them poetry; they accepted gifts. They flirted and sang and laughed with their adoring swains, and wore their favours at the tournaments. It meant nothing; husbands turned a blind eye; it was the accepted way.
Here in Scotland it was the same, surely, though the court was less light-hearted. The factions which had torn the government this way and that for the last ten years were reflected in a certain grimness which permeated the atmosphere. It was that which had upset the little queen and distressed her father King Henry when he heard of it, and which Lords Menteith and Mar and their advisers were trying to alleviate with parties like this one. Eleyne saw the royal pair seated on their chairs beneath an oak tree, from which was suspended the royal canopy of state. Queen Marie was with them, her husband a little apart. The little queen was too thin, her face pinched and white. Eleyne felt a shiver of unease as she looked at her.
Something touched her hand and she glanced down. Donald’s long sensitive fingers lay over her own, then he moved his hand. ‘Your food, my lady,’ he said softly, ‘it grows cold.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You were staring at the queen as though you saw a ghost,’ Donald went on. He had seen the colour drain from her face.
Eleyne shook her head hastily. ‘I was thinking of other things. Come, distract me. You must pay with a poem before I permit you to eat!’
She watched him as he recited, picking only lethargically at her food. The planes of his handsome face had not yet hardened into full manhood. Above the beard his cheeks still had the soft bloom of youth, unmarred by the acne which disfigured some of his contemporaries, and she found herself longing to touch the curve of his cheek.
His poem done, he threw himself down beside her on the rug and reached for his food. There was nothing pale or romantic about his appetite. He ate like a horse, addressing his meal with enthusiasm. Eleyne hid a smile and pushed her own helping towards him. It was a shame to waste the succulent pieces he had chosen with such care.
When the meal was done many settled themselves to sleep in the shade as the harper stroked his instrument into a lazy lullaby. Eleyne felt restless, and scrambling to her feet, she held out her hand to Donald. ‘Shall we walk amongst the trees? It’s cooler in the forest. I have no desire to sit and listen to a hundred people belch and then lie down to snore.’
She didn’t wait to see if he had followed. The cool shade of the forest closed around her almost at once and within a few paces she was out of earshot of the music. The silence of the afternoon was suffocating; tangible. Every creature in the forest slept. Running her hand around the back of her neck, she lifted the weight of her hair in the snood and veil which covered her head, and turned to smile at Donald close behind her. She had left the phoenix tucked into the bottom of her coffer.
‘I imagine you would rather be swimming naked in the burn than walking here with me.’ She leaned against a tree trunk, aware of the damp perspiration below her breasts.
‘No, I would rather be nowhere else on earth.’ He stepped towards her. ‘My lady. Eleyne – ’
‘No, Donald.’ Aware of the expression on his face, she raised her hand. The intensity of passion in the young man’s eyes frightened her.
From somewhere at the back of her memory came the echo of the conversation she had had with her mother all those years before when Joan had spoken to her about William de Braose. At last she understood her mother’s terrible plight. Oh yes, at last she understood.
‘Eleyne, please.’ Donald’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘I love you so much. Surely you can grant me one small kiss?’
‘No, Donald.’ She ached to reach out to him. ‘No,’ she repeated, more softly this time. This was no longer a chivalric pretence of love. ‘It would not be right; I’m old enough to be your mother.’ Neither of them noticed that she had not mentioned her husband.
She pushed herself away from the tree and ducked past him, running a few steps down the grassy ride.
‘You will never look old to me, my lady,’ Donald called after her. ‘On the day you are a hundred, you will be as beautiful as a new budded rose and I shall kiss your eyelids and your lips as velvet petals in the sunlight.’
Eleyne suppressed a smile. She had to stop this now or he was going to get hurt. ‘Donald -’ she said.
He shook his head sternly. ‘Only one kiss, my lady, that’s all I crave. You wouldn’t deny me that, surely?’
She know that however much she enjoyed his company and his gifts and his poems and his compliments, however much fun it was to be courted and wooed and worshipped with such open admiration, however attractive she found him, she had to put a stop to it now. ‘No, Donald, we should go back to the others.’
‘Soon.’ He was standing between her and the path which led back to the clearing. ‘First I demand a forfeit for cutting short our walk.’ His voice was light but his eyes were serious as he stepped towards her.
‘Donald,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Ssssh!’ He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Just one forfeit.’
His lips were cool and firm on hers. There was nothing boyish or diffident about him now. The hands which held her were those of a man. Shocked, she was overwhelmed by the wave of longing which swept through her, the temptation to abandon herself to his embrace. When she pushed him away, she was trembling. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Donald. We must go back to the others.’
The forest had suddenly become very cold. The sun had vanished and a small spiteful whirlwind had whipped the dead leaves into spinning, dusty vortices. Uncomfortably Eleyne looked round. She could feel the anger in the air like a lightning charge, and she was afraid. ‘Donald,’ she said, ‘we flirted, you wrote me beautiful poems and I am flattered. But it can never be more than that.’ She tried to make her voice gentle, to cover the raw ache he had awakened in her. ‘Be sensible. It’s too dangerous. You must find someone to marry.’ A girl your own age, she was about to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She turned from him and began to walk back towards the clearing, conscious that the atmosphere was lightening.
‘Eleyne.’ Donald had not moved. He didn’t even raise his voice. ‘One day you will change your mind.’
She didn’t look back.
The following day, with the king’s permission, she rode back to Falkland.
VIII
