III
She had no premonition of disaster, no seeing in the flames. When Donald came to her in the stillroom, he found her with an apron over her gown poring over an old book of recipes.
‘Nel -’ Curtly he dismissed the servants and, with one look at his face, they all obeyed immediately.
‘What is it?’ Guiltily she slid a box of dried orris over the parchment page. The recipe was one for ensuring the fidelity of one’s husband.
Donald hesitated. How could he tell her? His mouth was dry. He didn’t know what to say. He should have brought the letter to her, shown her that.
She was suddenly full of misgivings. ‘What is it? What has happened?’
‘It’s Colban.’
‘Colban? What’s wrong with Colban?’
‘He’s dead, Eleyne.’
‘Dead?’ Her face drained of colour. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘His horse fell. I’m sorry.’ He was doing it all wrong, but he didn’t know how else to break the news.
She stood, stunned, the pestle she had been using still in her hand.
‘No.’ Her whisper was pitiful. ‘I would have known. It can’t be true. It can’t.’
‘I’m so sorry, my darling.’ He put out his arms and blindly she went to him.
‘I must go to him.’
He frowned. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘Of course it’s wise!’ she flashed. ‘I have to go to him! I have to be there. Don’t you see?’ Her voice was broken. ‘I have to see him.’
IV
‘I’m sorry, my lady.’ John Keith looked unhappy and embarrassed. ‘Lady Fife will not receive you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Exhausted after the precipitous ride from Mar, Eleyne had ridden to the door of the great hall at Falkland with all the confidence of long ownership. It had not crossed her mind that she would be denied entry.
‘I think there is some mistake, Sir John,’ Donald said sharply. ‘My wife has come to be with Lady Fife and her son at this terrible time.’
‘I know.’ Keith shrugged miserably. ‘She has told me not to let you in.’
‘Where is my son’s body?’ Eleyne’s voice was very tight.
‘In the chapel, my lady.’
‘I take it Lady Fife does not object to my going there.’ She did not wait for an answer. Riding to the chapel door – the scene of her first marriage to Malcolm, the place where both her eldest sons had been baptised – she slid from her horse and went into the cool darkness.
His body lay on a bier before the altar, his sword clasped between his hands. Candles burned at his head and his feet. Eleyne walked slowly to his side and stood staring down at him, ignoring the monks who prayed near him. Colban looked younger than when she had last seen him the year before. His face was serene, boyish, happy. He was seventeen years old.
Closing her eyes, she felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She did not cry – she hadn’t cried since the news had come. Leaning over, she kissed him gently on the forehead and then went to kneel on the faldstool at his feet.
Behind her Sir Alan Durward had come into the chapel. He stood beside Donald for a moment without speaking, gazing at Eleyne.
‘I’m sorry that Anna was so cruel,’ he said quietly at last to Donald. The two men eyed each other with hostility, the long court case between Sir Alan and Donald’s father over the earldom of Mar as always in both their minds when they met. Simultaneously they made the decision to ignore it for Eleyne’s sake. ‘Anna is beside herself with grief. Of course you are both welcome here. It’s unthinkable that you should not be at the funeral.’
His sympathy was not endorsed by his wife or daughter. Neither Margaret nor Anna would speak to Eleyne and, to her fathomless grief, they refused to let her see her grandson, Duncan.
‘I’m sorry, mama,’ Macduff was red-eyed and pale, ‘Anna doesn’t want you to go near him.’ He didn’t know how to say that his sister-in-law thought his mother possessed the evil eye.
‘Why?’ Eleyne was bewildered and hurt.
He shrugged. ‘Give her time. She’ll get over it.’ He grinned wanly. ‘I had a little chat with Duncan, uncle to nephew, you know, and he sends you his love.’
‘Does he realise what has happened?’ Eleyne asked Macduff. He was like his brother in many ways, though she had to admit a sturdier and more reliable version. Her heart went out to him as she watched him fighting his tears.
‘He knows his father is dead. He knows he is the new earl, or will be one day.’ Macduff grinned ruefully. ‘It’s a shame a brother no longer seems to have a claim to inherit. This fashion for primogeniture is a disaster for the Earls of Fife. I’d have made a good earl.’
Eleyne gave a wistful smile. ‘Yes, you would.’ She put her arm around the boy and hugged him.
‘You told me once I’d be a great soldier, that you had seen it in the stars. Did you see this for Colban? Did you know he was going to die?’ he asked, biting his lip.
Eleyne shook her head. ‘It wasn’t me. It was Adam, the wizard, who saw your futures. He never told me what he saw for Colban, so perhaps I should have guessed.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did it happen?’
He shook his head. ‘Why does anything happen? Bad luck. A bird went up under his horse’s feet. He wasn’t paying attention. He was never as good a rider as me -’ He stopped guiltily at the sound of his own boasting – it had come so automatically – and she smiled reassuringly.
‘It’s true, you always were the better horseman, even when you were both small.’
He grimaced. ‘The earldom has been in a minority for four years already. Do you realise they will have to wait now until Duncan is twenty-one before there is someone in Fife who can administer the earldom personally? In the meantime, no doubt, the king will take the revenues again.’ The king was already taking the revenues on the few lands left directly to Macduff by his father.
Eleyne nodded thoughtfully. ‘When you are twenty-one, I will speak to the king for you. I’m sure he will make you one of the earldom’s guardians and give you some of its revenue so that you can set up your own household.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Fife will need you, my darling,’ she said gently. ‘For the sake of your father’s people you must be patient.’
V
When Donald left Kildrummy again, twelve weeks after they had returned home, to join his father in the king’s council, Eleyne smiled and kissed him and wished him well. If it were the will of the gods, he would come home. He did, three days after Marjorie’s birth in August, with gifts for her and all the children and an invitation from the
