Eleyne stared at her eldest son. ‘You weren’t fighting for Edward!’ Her voice was husky with shock.
Gratney shook his head. ‘Of course not. I am loyal to Scotland, mama. But like the Bruces it does not suit me to fight for Balliol. I’m not prepared to answer his summons as meekly as father is. But I would not fight my own people, either. Never!’ He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘So I was a bit late for the battle. I fought on neither side. I knew papa and the twins would provide enough Mar blood between them. No, no!’ He raised his hand as she went white. ‘None of them has shed any of it. I heard Duncan is safe, though I haven’t seen him. I’m fairly sure he escaped.’
He frowned. ‘I’m not a coward, mama, I’ll fight when the time comes. But this was not the time. Please don’t think badly of me, I did what I thought was right. Listen, I shall ride south again at once to negotiate their release. I admire Edward and he trusts me. He will let them go. He does not mean to harm Scotland. He does what’s best for our land.’
‘Is it best to invade us and fight a war?’
‘No. He invaded because of Balliol’s alliance with the French. In his eyes that was treachery.’ Gratney stepped forward and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘It will all turn out all right, mama.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Will you look after Kirsty for me if I leave her here while I ride south?’
She was troubled. ‘You think you can free your father and Sandy?’
‘I’m sure I can.’
She walked away from the door at last, to stand in front of the smouldering fire. ‘I couldn’t live if anything happened to Donald, Gratney. He has been my whole life for so many years.’ Tiny blue flames licked across the logs; the deep red heart of the burning wood glowed and pulsed before her eyes. ‘I always assumed I would die first. It’s just not possible that anything could happen to him. We’ve had so many years of peace in Scotland. I can’t believe it has come to war. And yet it had to happen. When Alexander died… it had to happen.’
Gratney regarded her fondly. Upright, strong, indomitable, his mother looked twenty years younger than her age. He had never heard her say anything before which came so close to despair and defeat.
‘I shall bring him home, mama, I promise.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. ‘I know you can’t live without him.’ He took her hands in his. ‘The love affair that rocked Scotland. I know the story. And it will have a happy ending, I promise.’
V
‘There is nothing you can do.’ Kirsty’s arms were around Eleyne and she hugged her. Beside her stood her sister, Mary, also a refugee from the south, come to be with Isabella at the birth. ‘You said yourself that you dislike Edward and he dislikes you. I find it hard to believe, but if it’s true you are the last person to plead for your husband’s release. Leave it to Gratney. He gets on well with Edward. Besides, Isabella needs you here.’
In the upper bedchamber of the Snow Tower Isabella was asleep, worn out by the heat and the bulk of the child not yet born.
‘I hope Robert arrives soon,’ his younger sister, Mary, whispered to Kirsty. ‘He’ll be distraught if anything awful happens.’
‘Nothing awful is going to happen!’ Kirsty snapped. Their nerves were on edge. The huge castle, populated mainly by women, seemed claustrophobic, an island beneath the beating sun as the afternoon wore on. It was several days since the messengers had ridden south to find the young Earl of Carrick and tell him his wife’s labour had started. Since then the pains had stopped and started several times. Isabella was no nearer giving birth, but she was growing weaker. Timidly Kirsty touched Eleyne’s arm. ‘You said she would have a son,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re sure?’
‘She will have a son,’ Eleyne repeated. ‘The heir to Scotland. The destiny Einion foresaw. At last.’
Kirsty glanced at Mary and grimaced fondly. She had grown used to her mother-in-law’s incomprehensible asides and ignored them. In Eleyne’s more straightforward predictions she had the utmost confidence. ‘Poor Isabella.’ She looked towards the white disc of the sun. ‘I hope the child is born soon.’
It was three days before Isabella’s labour pains began again in earnest and still Robert had not appeared.
Sitting with her daughter, holding her hand in the stifling bedchamber, Eleyne looked up as one of Isabella’s ladies came in. ‘Is there no sign of him?’ She winced as Isabella’s hand tightened over hers.
‘None, my lady.’ The woman wrung out a fresh cloth in the cold-water pitcher and gently wiped Isabella’s face.
‘Mama!’ Isabella threw her head from side to side on the hot pillow. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’ll come soon, my darling.’ Eleyne took the cloth from the woman’s hands and gestured her away. ‘Don’t worry. Just concentrate on saving your strength.’
‘You know he’s in love with someone else.’ Isabella closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as another wave of pain took her.
Eleyne stared at her in shocked disbelief. For a moment the air in the room seemed to shimmer over the bed, then all was normal again. ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said gently.
‘It is. Perhaps he’s with her. She’s young and beautiful. I heard one of the grooms talking. He would have married her if he could; if he hadn’t been betrothed to me for so long.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Eleyne sponged her daughter’s face again. ‘Robert worships you. You have only to see the way he looks at you.’
‘He looks at me with guilt.’ Isabella could feel the tears coming as the pain built once more.
‘No, no, I won’t believe it.’ Eleyne laid her hand on the linen sheet which covered the contorted muscles of her daughter’s belly. She felt every pain as if it were in her own body. ‘He loves you, and if it’s humanly possible he will come.’
‘Can’t you see? Can’t you see in the fire?’ Isabella’s voice rose unsteadily. ‘Look, mama. Please. See where he is.’
Nearby the two midwives, sitting side by side telling their beads, looked at each other and one crossed herself.
In the hearth the fire burned in spite of the heat of the day. One of the maids sprinkled dried rose petals and coriander on it every so often, using a small wooden scoop, and the room was full of aromatic, spicy scent. Reluctantly Eleyne walked across to it, feeling the heat on her face. Beneath her veil, the perspiration started out on the back of her neck. On the bed Isabella groaned again.
Eleyne pursed her lips and stared into the depth of the flames, feeling the heat against her eyes, willing the picture to come – the picture that would tell her beyond all doubt that Isabella would be safe and that the child would be a son, but there was nothing there. Nothing but the red heart of the burning wood. And then she saw it: a shadow in the heat, no more. She leaned forward – a standard. Surely it was a standard. A flag flying in the wind, a flag of red and gold – the standard of the king.
‘My lady – ’
Only the hand on her elbow had saved her from toppling into the fire. Shaken, she saw the maid standing beside her, holding her arm, watching her with frightened eyes. ‘I thought you were going to fall, my lady.’ The woman dropped her hand apologetically.
‘Thank you.’ Eleyne collected herself with difficulty. ‘I was dizzy for a moment with the heat. How is she?’ She turned back to the high bed.
‘She’s coming on nicely.’ One of the midwives smiled. ‘I reckon it will be here with the dawn.’
It was Robert who arrived with the dawn, throwing himself, exhausted, from his horse, taking the stairs to the bedchamber two at a time. He was allowed only a moment to touch his wife’s hand and kiss her forehead before he was ushered from the room. Childbirth was women’s work. There was no room here for a man, save perhaps a priest. The midwives scanned Isabella with practised eyes. She was strong, but tired already and old for a first child. The baby was positioned wrong; it should have been here long since. Shaking their heads, they bent over the
