Westminster at this very moment and there it will stay – forever. I am the government of this country now and my son will be the next monarch crowned on your coronation stone. Face me, madam, when I am addressing you!’ His voice was a whiplash.
Eleyne turned, hiding her horror as best she could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shaken she was by his sacrilege. Giving him a long disdainful look, she was aware that the great hall was crowded with the men and women of the household and beyond them, in grim, serried ranks, Edward’s men-at-arms. The eyes of all were on her as she spoke.
‘You will not destroy Scotland’s independence by stealing the things she holds most sacred,’ she said confidently. Her face was drawn and tight with anger. ‘Nor will you win the allegiance of her people that way. As for me, I owe you no allegiance, Edward of England. Your father declared me dead! He took my land, my inheritance, my name, even my children! I owe you nothing!’
‘Of course.’ Edward smiled. ‘You are not just a rebellious Scot! How could I have forgotten the escapades of your youth? And how could I have forgotten how thickly the blood of Welsh rebels runs in your veins? Perhaps I should arrest you, madam, and send you to join your nephew Owain in Bristol Castle, or to the Tower with the pathetic Scots king who seems to have your enthusiastic allegiance. If I had considered allowing your husband to return north, now I know I am right to keep him in London, safely away from his rebellious wife. You have one last chance.’ He shot his head forward and glared at her coldly. ‘You take the oath or you spend the rest of your days in my dungeons at the Tower with him.’ He folded his arms. ‘Let us waste no more time. Decide.’ He held her eyes steadily.
It was Eleyne who looked away. The threat of Edward’s dungeon was too real and too terrible to contemplate. And what use would she be to Donald or the children or to Scotland if she were a prisoner? Cursing her own weakness, she forced herself to kneel on the hard dais before him and put her hands between his. She repeated the oath through clenched teeth and saw the triumph in his eyes at the humiliation of her public defeat. She could barely hold back her tears.
She went to the chapel. Kneeling in the near darkness, she looked at the statue of Our Lady. She was tired, so tired. Her back straight, her hands gripping the edge of the prayer desk, she tried to pray. The image of the Virgin was indistinct, blurred by her tears, the flame of the candle at her feet shimmering, beckoning, a tiny speck of fire in the cool darkness of the great chapel.
She wasn’t aware of standing up or of moving towards the altar. The only sound was of the light shushing of her skirts on the paving slabs as she was drawn towards it. The heavy carpet was shadowy in the candlelight, the embroidered Virgin and Child unmoving, their eyes fixed emptily on infinite distances. She stooped, her hand going involuntarily to the heavy fabric as she began to pull it aside. It was as though someone else was directing her actions; someone else guiding her hand. She was not thinking as her stiff, gnarled fingers touched the tiles. She did not realise that she was pulling at them, scrabbling with her nails, working one of them back and forth until the ill- mixed mortar crumbled and cracked and the tile came free of the floor, loosening its neighbours. She was not aware that she had lifted the loose board, groped beneath it, taken out the dusty box, and tucked it into the bosom of her gown. Replacing the board and tiles she allowed the heavy carpet to fall back into place. Even when she knelt again at the faldstool, she was unaware of what she had done.
For the two days King Edward spent at Kildrummy, Eleyne kept to her solar, and he did not insist that she appear again. Access to one of the richest and best-stocked castles in the north of Scotland was sufficient for Edward; he saw to the replenishing of his packhorses and the feeding of his men at Mar’s expense. Only when he was satisfied that all were rested and replete did he give the order to move on. Before he left, he commanded Eleyne to attend him once more in the great hall.
She kept him waiting long enough to put on her best gown and call for a jewelled chaplet for her hair. When she walked at last into the hall, tall and stately, attended by four of her ladies, it was as a princess of the royal blood, and it was as a princess that she curtseyed gracefully before him, her aches and pains forgotten.
He acknowledged her arrival with a curt nod.
‘I am about to take my leave, Lady Mar. A word before I go.’ She heard the silence echoing in the rafters of the hall as every man, woman and child held their breath. ‘Kildrummy will be held for me by your son, Lord Gratney. I shall direct my master builder to strengthen your defences. Scotland’s castles, like those in Wales, will provide me with the bases I need to keep the country obedient. And its people.’ He paused. ‘Don’t, ever, defy me again, madam. If you do, you will pay dearly for it. Do I make myself understood?’
She forced herself to smile. ‘Indeed you do, cousin.’ The mockery in the ultimate word brought a spot of colour to his cheeks but without another word he turned and strode towards the great double doors to the courtyard. No one else moved until at a sharp command from one of Edward’s knights the men-at-arms stood to attention, rapping their lances on the stone floor and, turning, marched out.
Eleyne felt herself sway slightly, then a hand was on her arm and another and another. Kirsty and Mary and her ladies sur rounded her. The household was closing ranks once more. In a few minutes the king and his men would be clear of the gatehouse and on the long road south.
Eleyne straightened. Somehow she found the strength to stand upright and smile. ‘Thank you all,’ she said in ringing tones which carried to the farthest corners of the hall. ‘Let us try to forget this interlude. Let us all return to our duties, securing Kildrummy, strengthened or not, for Earl Donald and holding it safe for his return. And let us all remember,’ she looked proudly around her, ‘that whatever oaths your earl and countess may have been forced to take by our self-appointed overlord, we are all by birth or by marriage,’ she paused with a smile, ‘Scots!’
XI
Her bedchamber was cooler now it was fully dark. Wearing only a light linen bed gown, her hair brushed loose down her back, Eleyne sent her ladies away at last. She walked into the garderobe. On a rail there hung her winter furs together with some of Donald’s; his fur-trimmed mantles, his heaviest woollen gowns. Unhooking one, she gathered it into her arms and buried her face in its folds, smelling faintly the scent of her husband.
She crossed to the window and sat stiffly on the cushioned window seat in the cool depth of the embrasure. Far away to the south, was Donald too staring out of a window thinking wistfully of his home? The tears began to trickle down her cheeks, unchecked in the darkness. It was the first time she had broken down since his capture, the first time she had acknowledged even to herself how desperately she missed him, and how hard it was for her to carry on alone.
For a moment she didn’t notice the gentle touch on her cheek – featherlight, hesitant, no more than a whisper against her skin. Still hugging Donald’s robe, she turned her head towards the window. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees in the back den below the castle wall or opposite the ravine, above the quarry. The pale sky was sewn with a myriad stars and even as she watched a shooting star, trailing its tail of luminous green, hurled itself across the heavens in the throes of its fiery death. The second touch was firmer, brushing aside the tears which trickled down on either side of her nose, tracing the network of fine lines wrought by the weather and time on her face.
She felt the stomach-churning beginning of terror, and her arms tightened around Donald’s gown.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t come for me now. I’m not ready, not yet.’ Her back was pressed against the stone wall behind the seat, she levered herself to her feet, her eyes wide, peering into the blackness of the room as she clutched Donald’s mantle to her chest.
Still wrapped in its dusty lambswool, the phoenix lay in its box in a coffer near the bed. She had no memory of having put it there.
She backed away from the window, her eyes straining in the darkness. ‘Go away. Please,’ she breathed. ‘Go away.’
She was working her way steadily towards the table where the candelabra stood. Nearby a small rush lamp burned, its light so weak it illuminated no more than a tiny circle on the table around it. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears as inch by inch she edged across the room.
Still clutching Donald’s mantle like a talisman with her left hand, she stretched out her right towards the table and felt her fingers brush another hand. Somehow she bit back the scream which rose in her throat. ‘No, please. Go away.’ She stood still, trembling. ‘Please. Let me light the candles – ’
