sometimes…’
‘You mean you are
‘Yes.’
‘And you saw danger for my baby?’ The queen put her hand to her stomach protectively.
‘I saw no baby, madame. But I did see danger. I saw danger all around you.’
‘Then I shall not ride. You were quite right to tell me.’ Yolande went back to her seat and sat down firmly. ‘I shall send a messenger to Alexander to come to me. Tomorrow. As soon as he can.’ She was suddenly coquettish. ‘I don’t think he will find this a hardship.’
Isabella was sharing her mother’s bed. In the darkness she snuggled against Eleyne’s back, exhausted and pleased now with her new role as one of the queen’s maidens and it was not long before Eleyne heard the girl’s breathing grow steady as she fell asleep.
Eleyne lay looking into the glowing fire, listening as the wind grew stronger. Like the queen’s bower, their bedchamber looked out across the Forth. Behind the ill-fitting shutters and the glass, so loosely set in its leads that it rattled, she heard the waves beating on to the shore. Her mind was churning with images: Mairi, so far from home and, at the whim of Joanna de Clare, in charge of the nursery at Falkland at the age of seventeen. Shadows hung over that girl’s head, and over little Isobel’s. And Isabella. Shadows hung over the whole land.
She eased herself away from Isabella so as not to wake her, and crept out of bed. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and went over to the fire. Reaching for the poker, she pushed aside the turves which covered it and threw on a couple of pieces of wood. Then she sat on a stool facing it, huddling for warmth in the folds of her thick cloak. Behind her Isabella flung out an arm in her sleep and gave a little murmur.
Staring into the flames, trying to see pictures which would not come, Eleyne was aware that there was someone with her. The room was dark save where the light of the fire sent flickering shadows leaping up the walls and across the floor. She smiled sadly and reached out her hand, but there was no one to take it. Only a whisper too soft to hear above the sigh of the ash beneath the logs.
‘Alexander. My love!’
Her eyes widened. How could he be here? The phoenix was hidden.
The shadows were uneasy. The air tense and unhappy. Outside the window the sound of a gull’s laughing cry, shredded on the night wind, tumbled into the room and was gone, borne away on the storm.
She was afraid. ‘What is it?’ She spoke out loud and heard Isabella groan. The shadows were growing blacker. She shivered and looked down at the fire. The flames had died, the logs lay sullenly black and suddenly the room was full of the noise of the storm. Staggering to her feet, Eleyne groped her way to the narrow window. The shutter had blown open and the fragile glass was rattling in its frame. As she reached it, two opaque panes blew in and broke at her feet on the floor of the window embrasure.
‘Mama! What is it?’ Isabella sat up in fright. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing, my darling. Stay in bed.’ Eleyne groped for the flailing shutter. ‘The storm has blown in the window, that’s all. I can fix the shutter.’ She felt a sharp pain as she stood on a piece of broken glass. Rain was spattering on the floor and ice-cold on to her face and arms as she struggled with the heavy shutter. At last she pushed it back across the window and wedged the bar home in its slot. The room grew still and dark once more.
A light flared as Isabella pushed a taper into the fire and lit a candle. ‘Are you all right?’ Her voice was high and frightened.
‘I’ve cut my foot.’ Eleyne could feel the blood running down her instep.
‘The storm has got so bad!’ Isabella ran to her and knelt at her mother’s feet. ‘I’ll fetch some ointment from your coffer and bind it up for you. Poor mama, you should have called a servant to fix the shutter.’ She bustled away, the candle in her hand throwing a crazy whirl of shadows on the walls.
Eleyne hobbled to the bed and hoisted herself on to the high mattress with a groan. The frightened hammering in her chest slowed. Whatever, whoever, had been in the room, had gone.
The next day the storm had blown itself out. The sun sparkled on the blue waters of the Forth and they could see clearly across the firth.
After breakfast the queen sent for Eleyne. ‘Are you rested, my lady?’ she asked warily and Eleyne noted with weary amusement that she had made the sign against the evil eye.
‘Thank you, yes.’ Eleyne refrained from mentioning the sleepless night or her swollen painful foot.
‘I’ve taken your advice,’ Yolande went on, ‘and sent a messenger to Edinburgh begging the king to come to me as soon as his meetings are over.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure he won’t stay away from me a moment longer than he need.’
‘I’m sure he won’t.’ Eleyne’s head was as heavy as lead. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Lethargically she took her place beside the queen and reached for the embroidery which the queen’s ladies had laid ready for the day. Isabella had vanished, already whispering secrets to a new-found friend.
‘You still look tired.’ Yolande noticed the paleness of her companion’s face.
Eleyne gave a wry smile. ‘I do feel tired. I fear I’m getting old.’
But it was not tiredness or age weighing her down; it was a feeling of oppression and despair which seemed to fill her soul.
XIV
In Edinburgh Castle Alexander walked to the door of the great keep and stared out at the storm. As the day went on, the weather had grown worse again. The blue sky vanished; black cloud raced in from the east, and with it snow. The weather was set for the night, probably for weeks. Cursing, he turned back into the hall, then stopped. He had had enough of meetings, enough of discussion, enough of argument, on a day which the gossips and old wives whispered was to be a day of doom. What he wanted was to ride with the wind and rain and ice on his face until he was exhausted, a drink and bed with his highly desirable wife.
He thought again of the note she had sent him that morning and the unspecified delights it promised. He had hoped that the meetings would be finished by midday and that he would be with her by dark. So be it: he would ride now and be with her by midnight. Surprise her; come cold of face and hot of body to her bed.
Without a word to the assembled nobles and courtiers, who stood drinking around the great fire waiting for the horn to call them to the evening meal, he ran down the staircase and into the slanting rain.
His great black horse whickered as he glanced into its stall and he rubbed its nose fondly. ‘Saddle him up, James, and find four men to ride with me to Kinghorn,’ he ordered the groom.
‘Kinghorn, my lord?’ The man glanced out at the rain. ‘You’ll not be crossing the water in this weather?’
‘Why not? I’ll find a sturdy boatman to take me over.’ Alexander slapped him on the back. ‘Hurry, man, before my friends see I’ve gone and insist on coming too.’
Suddenly the expedition had turned to an adventure, and he wanted no one urging caution. He wanted to gallop, to forget the discussions, the voices of sober restraint and shout his warcry into the storm.
The ride to Dalmeny was wild. He galloped ahead of the four men who rode with him and when they arrived he had already called the ferryman from his bed, smacking the great bell at the water’s edge with the flat of his sword, hearing the wild note ring out across the white-topped waves to be lost in the scream of the wind.
‘You’ll not take the horses tonight, my lord,’ James shouted, pitching the full power of his lungs against the storm. ‘Not in an open boat. Best leave them here and pick up new mounts on the other side.’
‘It’s too bad, my lord!’ the boatman said, his beard streaming in the wind. ‘I’ll not take my boat out tonight.’
‘Yes, tonight!’ Alexander shouted back, exhilarated. He threw his horse’s rein to James. ‘You stay. Take them back to the castle. And you, my friend -’ he spoke to the ferryman – ‘a bag of silver pennies to you when I set foot on the other side. You’re not afraid, surely!’ He laughed out loud as he saw the greedy light in the man’s eyes.
The ferryman wagged his head in mock resignation. ‘No doubt I could not die in better company,’ he
