‘There’s someone here,’ he whispered.
Eleyne clenched her fists. ‘Don’t be silly, there can’t be. No one comes here.’
‘I’ll check all the same.’ His voice was grim. He pulled on his gown, and reached for the dirk which hung from his girdle. He unsheathed it silently; the blade gleamed in the light of a stray pale flame which licked across the cooling embers and was gone almost as soon as it had flared.
Outside, the wind moaned through the trees and the sound of the rain on the autumn leaves grew louder. He smiled reassuringly at her, then he put his finger to his lips. They were both straining their ears trying to hear the inner silence of the old tower beyond the storm.
The touch of the hand on her shoulder was so sudden that she screamed. Donald swung round, the dirk outstretched before him. ‘What is it?’
‘There
‘There can’t be.’ Donald’s voice was steadying, reassuringly firm. ‘Wait, let me throw something on the fire.’ He stooped, scrabbling among the rubbish on the floor for a handful of jackdaw sticks and old bracken. He tossed it on the embers, his dirk still in his hand, and turned back towards the room. As the kindling flared the empty echoing chamber was full of shadows. His own fell across the floor and up the stone wall. As he moved, it foreshortened grotesquely and thickened but, in the leaping reflections of the flames, they could see the room was empty.
‘He’s gone downstairs,’ Donald breathed. ‘Stay here.’
‘Don’t go -’ Her anguished plea was barely audible. Her terror was increasing. ‘Donald, can’t you feel it? There’s something here, in this room.’
The feeling of anger was palpable: a cold, calculated fury which was building with the storm outside. As the firelight settled into a steady glow, she saw that Donald too could feel it now. The dirk was still held out before him as he moved steadily backwards towards her.
‘What is it?’ he breathed. ‘What’s happening?’ The dust was whirling round his feet and a shower of mortar fell from the vaulted roof above their heads.
‘Alexander,’ she breathed, staring around wildly. ‘Alexander, no, please!’
‘Who is it? Where is he?’ Donald’s jaw was set, his face grim. ‘Sweet Jesus, Nel, I can’t see him, where is he?’ He swore as another stone fell from the ceiling. ‘This place is falling apart. Come on, we must get out of here – ’
‘No!’ Eleyne ran forward and clutched at his sleeve. ‘No, that’s what he wants. He wants us out in the storm, so he can separate us. Stay here. Leave us alone, please,’ she cried to the shadows. ‘I don’t want you, don’t you understand? I don’t want you any more!’ Her voice rose hysterically as she addressed the darkness.
‘Nel! What is it? Who is it?’ The hairs on Donald’s neck were rising like the hackles on a dog. ‘Sweet Jesus, Nel, what is it?’
‘Give me your dagger!’ Eleyne held out her hand. ‘Quickly, give it to me!’
Without thinking, he reversed the dirk and handed it to her, hilt first. Behind him the fire was dying again. Eleyne raised the dirk before her, hilt upwards, in the age-old sign of protection and blessing.
‘In the name of the holy cross I command you to leave us.’ She raised her voice in a wild cry against the scream of the wind. ‘Leave us now, I don’t want you. I love Donald of Mar. You’re dead, don’t you understand? You’re dead, and I’m alive! I need a living man. Don’t torment yourself. Please go. Now!’ Her eyes filled with tears and she was shaking so much she couldn’t stand. She collapsed on her knees, the dirk still clutched in her fingers. Donald’s face was white. He crossed himself, then he squatted down beside her and put his arms around her.
‘Has he gone?’ The room was still full of the sound of the wind and rain.
She raised her head, and after a moment she nodded. Wordlessly she clutched at Donald’s arm, trembling violently. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry.’
He squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, it’s all over.’ He kissed her gently on the cheek, then he released her. ‘I’ll get us some wine.’ His mouth was dry and his voice husky, and when he unstoppered the wineskin and tried to pour the wine he found his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He managed it at last and turned back to her. She had pulled on her gown and her cloak and was sitting silently, her arms clasped tightly around her knees.
He put the silver goblet into her hand and closed her fingers around the stem. ‘Drink that.’
Obediently she sipped, feeling the rough red wine slipping down her throat. She sipped again, watching as Donald threw more rubbish on the fire, followed by the end of an old oak beam which had been lying in the corner of the chamber. The fire flared and settled into a steady glow.
‘Can you tell me what that was all about?’ His voice was carefully neutral.
‘Alexander.’ She licked her lips and took a deep nervous breath. ‘He was someone who loved me very much.’ She took another sip of wine.
Donald said nothing; his wine remained untouched in the goblet in his hand.
She saw the expression on his face with a sinking heart. ‘He died,’ she went on.
There was a long silence, then Donald raised his goblet to his lips and tipped the wine down his throat. ‘Do I take it we are talking about the late king?’ His voice was curiously flat.
She nodded.
‘He must indeed have loved you.’
She smiled wistfully then she nodded again.
‘And did you love him?’ Tossing the goblet aside, he folded his arms. It was a curiously defensive gesture and her heart went out to him.
‘Yes.’ There was no way she could lie about her feelings for Alexander, however much it hurt Donald. ‘But that was a long time ago. It’s you I love now.’ She looked up at him pleadingly. ‘Oh, Donald, help me.’
He shook his head, bewildered. ‘I thought Lord Fife was my rival. I can fight a flesh and blood man, but a ghost?’ He crossed himself again.
‘You can fight a ghost too,’ she said softly, ‘if your love is strong enough.’
‘Can I?’ He faced her. ‘I can’t bolt the doors against a ghost! I can’t carry you off and hide you from a ghost! We came here to escape people; you promised no one could find us here, but he did! Your ghost found us and stood over us while we made love, as no doubt he has done before, though I’ve been too preoccupied to notice! How can I fight that?’ His voice rose in anguish.
Eleyne bit her lip. ‘I don’t know, but you have to fight him. You have to.’
‘Does he come like that when you are with Lord Fife?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t love Malcolm. He’s not jealous of Malcolm.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘Don’t you see? It’s because I love you so much that he has come to haunt us. He’s jealous.’ The tears poured down her cheeks. ‘Donald, I don’t know how to fight him, I don’t know how to make him go away. I loved him. I went on loving him until I met you, but now – ’
‘Now?’
‘Now I want a real man; I want a flesh and blood lover. I want someone who can hold me in his arms and crush the breath out of me!’
He smiled and put out his hands to draw her to him. Her body was as cold as ice. ‘Then we must fight him together. Tell him to go away and find himself a lady phantom to keep him warm.’ When he smiled his eyes crinkled at the edges.
She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth.
‘Did you bring me a poem?’ she asked. She was still trembling.
He nodded. Releasing her, he walked over to his mantle and found the scrip which he had worn at his girdle. ‘And something else, a present for you.’ He produced the small box which contained the ring. Opening it, he took it out and brought it to her.
‘Close your eyes and give me your hand.’ The ring fitted the third finger on her right hand. She stared at it in delight, holding her hand to the fire, trying to make out the inscription.
‘What does it say?’
‘Love for eternity.’ Their eyes met and he saw her sadness. ‘Perhaps not entirely a good choice, under the circumstances,’ he said quietly.
