Muriel of Strathearn was several years younger than she was.
‘You shouldn’t be glad!’ Donald rounded on her. ‘He’ll have more children. He may even try to threaten the succession to the earldom.’
‘You really think he hates me that much?’ Eleyne was taken aback, then she shook her head. ‘No. He adores Gratney and the twins. He would never do anything to oust them.’ She reached across the table and touched his hand. ‘It’ll be all right, Donald, I promise.’
VIII
It was a joy to be home. However much she thought she would miss Wales, to be back with her three boys in the cool mountains of the north filled her with enormous pleasure. The fact that Rhonwen had refused to stay in Wales did not. She had tried persuasion; she had even tried to forbid her return, but Rhonwen, tight-lipped and cold, had been adamant, and Eleyne, unable to forget the woman’s years of devotion, had at last given in. She had dismissed Rhonwen’s claim to have killed Robert; no woman could have done such a thing. Almost wilfully her brain had blanked out the death of Cenydd: that had been an accident, a dreadful accident, no more.
Only days after her return north, she knew she was pregnant again. She went at once to see Morna.
‘You told me those things would work!’
She had assiduously done what Morna had told her: the spells, the charms, the salves which would prevent another baby.
‘And they do.’ Morna was watching little Mairi playing by the burn.
‘But they haven’t. I did everything you said. I can’t have this child. I will lose Donald. Morna, I’m too old to bear any more children. You must help me.’
Morna stared at her. ‘You are asking me to help you lose it?’
‘You’ve done it for cottar women, you told me.’
‘But I won’t do it for you. I’m sorry, but I can’t.’ Morna frowned. ‘This baby is special. The gods would not have allowed you to carry her otherwise. Don’t even think about trying to rid yourself of her. You would never forgive yourself if you did.’
‘I would never forgive myself if I lost Donald,’ Eleyne went on. ‘Don’t you see? Each time I’ve been pregnant, he’s gone away. He can’t stand the sight of me. Do you think he’ll go on coming back? At my age? I am old, Morna, old! I have grey hairs and wrinkles on my face and neck. My breasts are sagging and my stomach is no longer flat. Another child and I’ll look like his grandmother!’
Morna was amused. ‘Let me tell you what I see: a beautiful woman with red-gold hair with some streaks of silver, and a slim, firm body. But she is more than just a body. She has charm and humour and intelligence and a knowledge of men and how to please them. And that’s worth far more than the insipid body of a girl.’ She smiled. ‘Very few wives please their husbands as you please Lord Donald.’ She paused and glanced up. ‘I will make you a spell to keep your baby and your man.’
IX
A week later Donald was walking beside her in the herb garden which she had planted on the gently sloping ground outside the south wall beyond the great ditch.
‘Muriel is pregnant,’ he said without preamble. His father’s wife had taken over Elizabeth’s rooms in the Snow Tower. She was quiet and pleasant and seemed inclined to allow Eleyne to run the castle.
‘I know.’ Eleyne avoided his eye.
‘She’s a pretty creature.’ Donald bent to pick a sprig of mint and twirled it between his fingers. ‘Having a child seems to agree with her.’
Eleyne gritted her teeth.
He laughed out loud. ‘I do know, my darling; I’ve learned to spot the signs. You too grow more beautiful every day.’ He put a possessive hand on her stomach and patted it.
Eleyne caught his hand. ‘You won’t go away this time, will you? Promise me.’ She despised herself for saying it, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘If you need to go to court, take me with you. I can’t bear to be away from you.’
He put his arm around her. ‘I shan’t leave you. I find you infinitely desirable, knowing you carry another of my sons.’ He kissed her gently.
‘And if it’s a girl?’ She heard an echo in her head of Einion’s voice and of Morna’s.
He grinned. ‘If it’s a girl, I shall be even more pleased. I would like a daughter, especially one who looks just like her mother.’
X
A blizzard raged across the Grampian Mountains; thick snow blanketed everything; the skies behind the blinding whiteness were bruised and louring; the castle, in spite of the huge banked fires, was cold and draughty.
Eleyne and Muriel sat with their ladies around the fire in the great hall, embroidering by the light of a hundred candles whilst Donald and his father played chess at the table. In the body of the hall, where most of the household still sat, the trestle tables had been put away and a minstrel was playing a succession of old ballads with choruses in which everyone could join.
Eleyne looked at Donald surreptitiously. His move made, he was gazing down into the body of the hall whilst his father studied the board. She followed his gaze and her heart missed a beat. Catriona, the baker’s wife, her red hair bundled beneath a green snood, was sitting near the minstrel. As Eleyne watched, she looked up at Donald and the two exchanged knowing smiles.
Eleyne closed her eyes. The night before Donald had failed to come to her bed. So. It had begun again and this time she could not blame his mother. Without realising it, she put down the piece of fine linen on which she was embroidering a border of flowers and her hand went to the gently swelling mound of her stomach.
Bethoc glanced at Agnes and both grimaced, sensing their mistress’s unhappiness. Rhonwen, concentrating short-sightedly on her embroidery in the flickering light, appeared to notice nothing.
Eleyne stayed in the great hall until the candles had burned too low to see. She dreaded going to bed; she knew he would not come.
Not until the last flames began to gutter did she rise. Folding her work and putting it into a rush basket, she smiled wanly at Agnes who dozed near her, her head propped on her arms. In the body of the hall men and women were asleep, on benches or wrapped on the floor in their heavy cloaks. Donald and William had long ago disappeared. As had Catriona. Eleyne had not looked for her in the hall – she knew she would not be there.
Head erect, shoulders back, she walked slowly across the great hall, followed by Agnes who carried her basket, and out into the ice-cold darkness of the stone stair which led up to the Snow Tower.
The whole castle was alive with the scream of the wind as the whirling snow filled the air, drifting into every nook and cranny and every space; creeping beneath the doors, seeping through the ill-fitting glass of the windows and through the shutters. Agnes followed her, carrying a candle which she had collected in the ground-floor storeroom of the tower. The flame streamed, scattering hot wax across her wrist, and she flinched. At the doorway
