nothing to be afraid of, nothing.’ She turned the queen’s face gently towards her. ‘He came to give you his blessing. He came to be with his son.’
Yolande lifted a tear-streaked face. ‘But everyone is saying the ghost spoke of death…’
‘No.’ Eleyne shook her head. ‘No, I heard him. He made no mention of death. He came to bless you both.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Forget him, your grace, be happy with your husband.’
She quickly became very fond of Yolande. The new queen made a confidante of her in the loneliness of her new country, explaining how apprehensive she had been, especially in the care of her solemn, humourless escort of Scotsmen. Her French companions, there for the wedding only, had nearly all departed, leaving only a handful of ladies with her. ‘But Alexander, he is different,’ she said in her heavy accent. ‘He laughs and he makes me laugh and he is kind.’
Eleyne smiled. ‘I’m glad. My godson is a good man.’
‘Soon I shall give him a son. And then another and then another!’
Eleyne laughed. ‘That will please him, my dear, but at the moment he seems perfectly delighted with you.’
Yolande looked away, embarrassed. ‘I know how to make him happy.’
‘I can see that.’ Patting the young woman’s shoulder, Eleyne hid a smile.
‘And you, you will stay my friend?’ Yolande became anxious. ‘Alexander says you live in the far north.’
‘I do indeed. But I spend my life in the saddle,’ Eleyne said, touched at the loneliness the remark betrayed, for all the queen’s outward happiness. ‘I shall come and see you often, have no fear.’
XI
Isabella had brought cushions and a thick tapestry to her eyrie in the Snow Tower while her parents were at the king’s wedding. One servant had been allowed into the secret and now there was a fire up there, beside which Isabella read her books by candlelight.
‘You’ve turned it into a real bower.’ Eleyne admired it, pulling her cloak around her. In spite of the merrily blazing little fire, the vaulted chamber was dark and cold, the roughly plastered walls unpainted. Outside, heavy sleet lashed the castle walls and turned the heather on the hills to a black sodden mass.
‘Tell me about the wedding.’ Isabella sat cross-legged on the tapestry which she had spread on the floor. ‘What did the queen wear?’
Eleyne described the queen’s gown, her mantle, the jewellery she had worn and the golden chaplet in her hair, which had hung loose, brushed until it lay like polished ebony over the scarlet samite of her wedding gown.
‘It must be wonderful to marry a king.’ Isabella put her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin wistfully in her linked fingers.
She dreamed often of the man she would marry. He would be tall and handsome – a prince – like her heroic cousin Llywelyn – a poet like her father; gentle and kind and above all loving. Her father had promised her as much but no one who had yet sought her hand, and there had been many, was good enough for his beautiful Bella.
Eleyne looked away from her daughter’s face. ‘Isabella, while we were at Jedburgh, your father and Robert of Carrick had a long talk.’
‘About Gratney and Christian? Have you fixed a date for their betrothal?’
Eleyne nodded, and held out her hand. ‘They were also discussing young Robert’s future marriage.’
‘Oh?’ Isabella was studying her mother’s face.
‘He is an exceptional young man: charming, intelligent, full of courage…’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘We have always liked the Bruces. I have known Robert’s grandfather for fifty years and his mother and I were once very close – ’
‘So?’
There was a long silence.
‘I always thought you liked Christian’s brothers,’ Eleyne said at last.
‘Mama!’ Her daughter jumped to her feet. ‘You don’t mean it! You can’t mean it! Robert is a boy! He is years younger than me.’
‘Not so much younger,’ Eleyne coaxed. ‘Only five years. Your father is twenty years younger than me.’
‘That is different!’
‘How is it different?’
‘Because it is.’ Isabella’s voice rose passionately. ‘Mama! It will be so long. When he’s ready for a wife, I shall be…
Eleyne flinched at the accusation. ‘You will grow to love Robert Bruce,’ she said softly. ‘I do promise. He will make you a good husband; and he will one day be an earl.’
That night in the bedchamber Eleyne sat beside the fire brushing out her hair slowly, watching the reflection of the flames throw glints into the curls. There was more white now, but it still crackled with energy as she pulled the comb through. ‘I hope we have done right.’
Donald was poring over some documents by the light of the great candelabra near the shuttered windows. Behind him they could hear the sleet rattling against the glass.
He did not look up. ‘She will get used to the idea. He’s a fine boy. He’ll grow up soon enough.’
‘It is a big gap, though.’ Eleyne put down her comb.
‘
‘Yes, I say that. You were a man when I met you. Isabella has to wait for him to grow. And she will have to wait while her blood is yearning for a lover.’
Walking across, Donald put his arm around her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her head. ‘If she were destined for the convent, she would have to wait forever,’ he said gently. ‘It will do her no harm at all. Take her with you when you ride to Fife and take her with you when you go to court; present her to the queen. Give the girl some fun, some distractions, and the time will soon pass. I’ll bet that boy could father a child in a year or two given half a chance!’ He laughed. ‘Who knows? Maybe the marriage will come sooner than she thinks.’
XII
Mairi at seventeen was a tall, shy girl with huge eyes. To Eleyne’s surprise Joanna seemed happy to hand her daughter over to the girl’s care at once.
‘She looks strong and competent – that’s all that matters. The nurses here are old.’ The Countess of Fife wrinkled her nose. ‘And they obey my mother-in-law rather than me!’ She paused, a puzzled look on her beautiful face. ‘Why should you want to give the child a nurse from Mar?’
Eleyne touched the baby’s cheek with her fingertip. ‘I think one day she’ll have need of a friend.’
‘And a nursemaid will be her friend?’ Joanna sounded scandalised.
