and carried her into the darkest corner of the building before throwing down his cloak and pulling her to the ground.
They had no warning. The ice-cold wind tore through the barn, whirled the hay into the air and crashed the doors back against the wall. The horse whinnied its terror, backing so hard that its halter snapped. It turned and galloped out into the night.
Donald drew Eleyne to him, trying to pull his wildly flapping cloak around them for shelter, ducking his head against the whirlwind trapped inside the barn, which threatened to tear the great roof beams apart.
‘Sweet Christ, Nel, what’s happening!’ There was a crash as a hayfork, long forgotten in a corner, flew up into the air and slammed into the ground only inches from him. Donald threw his body on top of her, trying to protect her from the flying debris which filled the air, passion forgotten as the sky above Fife split and sizzled with lightning which forked, split again and buried itself in the soil.
Her face pressed into the earth floor of the barn, Eleyne was trembling like a leaf. ‘No, please, leave us alone.’ She didn’t need the commanding touch of the invisible hand on her head to know that Alexander was there. ‘Please, leave us alone.’ She did not guess then or later that Rhonwen had sewn a small packet into the heavy train of her mantle which she would remove when Eleyne returned to Falkland.
Donald sat up. She could barely make out his face in the darkness, and she thought he was going to push her away. But his arms enfolded her as he climbed to his feet, helping her up. He glared around and narrowed his eyes against the flying dust.
‘Don’t think I won’t fight you for her!’ he yelled into the blackness. ‘It’s me she wants,
Eleyne closed her eyes in terror, clinging to Donald, waiting for some new sign, but the wind had died as swiftly as it had come. The only sound now was the thunder of rain pouring on to the wet ground. The air was full of the sweet scent of the earth.
XIV
Adam’s cave was deserted. There were all the signs of his presence – the neatly stowed bed roll, the books, the astrolabe, the bottles and boxes of herbs – but there was no sign of him or his boy. She glanced at the carvings on the walls, with their strange ancient power, then went back to the cave mouth and looked up and down the beach. It had not crossed her mind that he would not be there.
The weather had broken with the storm and a sweet south wind ruffled the waters of the Forth, carrying the heavy scent of the Pentland Hills.
‘Good day, my lady.’ Adam’s voice at her elbow made her jump. He had appeared as silently as a shadow on the path behind her. He saw her pale face, the dark rings under her eyes, the tenseness of her hands as she clutched her cloak, and he frowned. ‘Lord Donald is not with you,’ he observed quietly.
‘No.’ She bit her lip, then she held out her hands to him. ‘Please, you have to help me!’
Donald had gone. They had planned another meeting, but the shadow of Alexander had been between them as they parted.
‘Of course. I am here to help, my lady. Please come in.’ He gestured her towards one of the three-legged stools which stood on either side of the rough plank table. There was no sign of the boy who had been with him before.
She sat down, her green eyes fixed on his fathomless dark ones. ‘It’s the king,’ she said.
Adam met her eye steadily. He did not need her to explain which king. ‘When a man has loved a woman through all eternity, it’s hard for him to let go,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘You must help him.’
‘How? How can I help him?’ she cried. ‘I’m torn between them, torn between the living and the dead. I love them both, but -’ She broke off abruptly.
‘But you prefer the living to the dead.’ Adam looked at his long brown fingers linked loosely before him on the table. ‘And you know your future lies in Mar.’
She nodded.
He walked across to the cave mouth, his shadow long on the sandy floor behind him.
‘Your destiny is linked to the royal blood line of Scotland,’ he said at last, narrowing his eyes and gazing out across the silver glitter of the water. ‘I saw it the first time I met you and Michael saw it before me. Across the centuries you tie the ancient blood of Alba and Albion to the future destiny of this land. Your descendants will one day rule half the world.’
He turned to face her. Silhouetted against the light she could not see his expression. His hair stood out in a wild tangle around his head, highlighted by the sun behind him. ‘I have studied the stars and read your fortune a thousand times, Lady Fife, but I can tell you no details beyond that. Which of your children will carry your blood into the future I cannot see. I cannot see if the father is king or earl or commoner. I’m sorry.’
‘But you know that my future lies in Mar? Where does my husband come into all this? And my son and his wife who is of bastard royal blood? Alexander’s blood.’ Eleyne stood up so suddenly that the stool fell over on to the sand.
Adam shook his head. The shadows hung heavily over the house of Fife, that much he had seen, but he had no intention of telling her. ‘I can tell you no more,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. You must reconcile your royal lover and your earthly one, your husband and your sons and daughters yourself. The gods will guide you to your future. I can’t.’
XV
King Alexander III had agreed to knight Colban, young though he was, at the persuasion of Sir Alan Durward. At the feast which followed Eleyne sat at Malcolm’s side and smiled at her eldest son with enormous pride. He had grown tall – taller now at last than his wife, with whom he was obviously delighted. He had matured too since the birth of Anna’s baby. His tutors reported better of him; he had calmed down and no longer fought spitefully with his younger brother. Her eyes moved to Macduff, a serious nine-year-old whose gravity and gentleness belied the warlike future foretold for him.
Beyond her, at the centre of the table, sat young King Alexander, his queen beside him. He had grown very like his father now, and she felt a pang of acute sadness and longing as she looked at him.
She watched him wistfully, detached from the noise which crescendoed around her. The king was laughing; he had raised one of their precious silver goblets and was drinking a toast with Malcolm. The light of hundreds of candles caught and condensed on the bright metal, blinding her for a moment. She blinked, confused as the noise around her ebbed and died, to be replaced by the roar of the sea. She could see the wind catch the king’s hair and pull it back from his face, feel the storm tearing at his cloak, see his horse plunge through the rain with a screaming whinny as it reared and began to fall. Confused, she tried to rise, to hold out her hand towards him. She cried out, seeing behind the king the shadow of his father’s cloak, his father’s hand, then the vision had gone, leaving her shaking like a leaf at the king’s side.
‘It’s all right, my lady, I’m here.’ The arms firmly around her shoulders were Rhonwen’s. ‘Nobody has noticed,
Eleyne was trembling, the tears wet on her face. ‘What happened?’ She clutched at the wine and sipped it, feeling its warmth flow through her chilled body.
‘The Sight was returned to you.’ Rhonwen looked at her with compassion. ‘The goddess has laid her hand on you again.’
