were supposed to be looking after them.’
‘I am.’ Her tone became silky. ‘I look after everyone my lady loves.’
‘Oh.’ His face cleared into a radiant smile. ‘I’m glad.’
He did not add that he was much relieved; her icy manner had begun to unnerve him.
XVI
In the chamber she shared with four other ladies, Rhonwen knelt before her coffer and lifted the lid. Taking the small phial from the pocket beneath her gown, she looked at it for a few moments, then tucked it carefully beneath her spare shift. Closing the coffer, she locked it. For the time being she would reserve judgement on Donald of Mar.
XVII
When she arrived back at Falkland Rhonwen found Eleyne sitting on the straw in the stables, watching Ancret nursing a litter of puppies.
‘So what was so urgent at Stirling you had to ride there without asking my permission?’
‘Lord Fife wanted me to carry a message to the Welsh ambassadors,’ Rhonwen said. ‘He needed someone who spoke the language and whom he could trust. He knew you didn’t want to ride back so soon after you had come home.’
Eleyne nodded absent-mindedly. She reached for one of the pups and cradled it with gentle hands. ‘I trust you gave them my good wishes to pass on to Llywelyn
To her sorrow, Eleyne’s four nephews in Wales had given up all attempts at settling their jealousies amicably and Owain and Dafydd had tried to oust Llywelyn from power completely. He, showing the flair for leadership which had been apparent so early in his boyhood, had defeated them easily and they had both been taken captive. Owain was still in prison.
Eleyne had written to Llywelyn warning him that the brothers had to keep a united front before Henry if they hoped for any credibility at all, and he had written back a letter full of charm and wit, telling her in the nicest possible way to mind her own business, but that what he would really like was the support of the King of Scots. Eleyne had smiled indulgently; in her heart she knew he was right. He was the strongest of the brothers and she was very fond of him; besides, she would always back the alliance of Wales and Scotland. It seemed both countries wanted the same thing.
But for all that she missed her homeland, Gwynedd was a world away. And for now she was distracted. She could not put Donald out of her mind. What was it about him that she found so attractive? Time and again she tried to analyse her feelings: he wasn’t just a handsome, attentive squire; he was more, far more. There was a depth to him, she decided, a maturity far beyond his years; a sensitivity and an inner strength which she found irresistible. He was so different from Malcolm; so different from Robert. He was everything a woman could want in a man. He did not compare with Alexander; she did not even attempt the comparison. Alexander had been her man; her king; her god. He had been everything to her. But Donald awakened in her a physical longing she could not deny, even though it shocked her that the thought of him could arouse her. She wanted him so badly, she could think of nothing else. She knew she must never see him again. If she did she would not be able to trust herself.
A passing groom looked at the two women, then, not yet used to his countess’s ways, he stared askance as he recognised who it was who sat with the dogs in the straw.
‘I hear there were many attractions at court,’ Rhonwen said cautiously.
‘There are always attractions near the king.’
‘Young handsome attractions,’ Rhonwen persisted, ‘who write you beautiful poems.’
Eleyne felt herself colouring and frowned sternly. ‘All the squires write poems. They cluster round the ladies and imagine themselves constantly in love just as they do at King Henry’s court.’
‘And refuse to take no for an answer, is it? And pestering the daylights out of you.’
Eleyne dropped the puppy and climbed to her feet, plainly annoyed.
‘All right, if you must know the young man did pester me. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about him, do you hear? I don’t even want his name mentioned!’ She walked swiftly back across the great courtyard.
Rhonwen stooped and gently picking up the distressed puppy laid it with its brothers and sisters on its mother’s stomach. She frowned down at the dogs thoughtfully. For Eleyne to throw down that pup was so out of character as to betray her distress. But why was she so distressed? Did she really hate and fear the Master of Mar so much?
XVIII
‘There will be no knighthood!’ William of Mar confronted his son, his hand on his hips. ‘That is where this woman has got you. You are not fit to be knighted! the king has refused to convey the accolade.’
He turned away from Donald, his face working furiously. ‘That this should happen to us! I can’t believe it. The disgrace! The humiliation! That you of all people, who claim to serve the cause of chivalry before all others -’ He spluttered to a stop, speechless with fury. ‘I was so sure you would be granted it, young though you are. The king had agreed! It was all arranged! And now the king says he is not prepared to knight you, ever. And if he will not, neither will anyone else! Of course the queen mother is behind this,’ he went on after a moment. ‘We all know how much she hates Eleyne of Fife. Alexander is too fond of you – and fond of Lady Fife – to think of this by himself.’
Exhausted by his anger, he slumped into the chair at the head of the table, and for the first time looked at his son. Donald was standing quite still, his face chalk-white, his fists clenched. To his horror, his father suspected that the young man was near to tears.
‘No knighthood?’ It was a whisper. ‘Ever?’
‘No knighthood,’ William repeated with merciless emphasis, and leaning forward he smashed his fist on the table.
XIX
It would have to be the poison. Rhonwen considered the small phial on the table in front of her. Monkshood worked fast and with no possibility of error. Today, whilst Eleyne was preoccupied with the pups and with Colban, who was fretful with a heavy head cold. She could ride to Stirling and be back before dawn; be back before they had even found the young man’s body.
She told no one where she was going. John Keith called for a fast horse for her. He asked no questions and he watched her go with something like admiration in his eyes. If anyone asked, he would swear he had not seen her for three days.
She left the sweating horse in the stables and made her way into the castle, her hood pulled down over her face. Donald of Mar would guess who it was who had put the poison in his wine, but he would not tell anyone. Ever.
Swiftly she threaded her way across the great hall, where the servants were putting out the trestle tables for supper. She could see the vast ornate silver-gilt salt on the white linen cloth of the high table, the goblets, the baskets of bread. Two young men had hauled a huge log to the fire and levered it on to the dogs in the hearth. She
