her own vitality, willing her strength into him.
‘Have you called for food and wine?’ she scolded as she extricated herself from his arms. ‘And dry clothes? Look how chilled you are.’ No, she could hear herself crying inside.
She took his hands and kissed them; then she kissed his forehead again. Only then did she look around for Sandy.
‘Where is he?’ Her mouth was suddenly dry with fear.
‘Still in the Tower.’ Donald shook his head. He had been afraid to tell her, dreading this moment. He looked at Duncan and saw the twin’s distress, swiftly veiled as his youngest son put his arm round his mother’s shoulders.
‘Why?’ Eleyne’s voice was husky.
‘Surety for my good behaviour.’ Donald was very bitter. ‘Edward is a clever unscrupulous man. He gives with one hand and takes with the other. He keeps a guarantee that I will serve him even as he releases me.’ He broke off in a fit of coughing. ‘And of course it will work. I shall have to obey him.’
‘Papa, enough talking for now.’ Duncan took his father’s hand gently. ‘Come and rest. We’ll talk later and think then what to do.’ Did his mother too feel the raw bleeding wound inside which was Sandy’s pain? Seeing her face, he knew that she did.
Somehow Donald found the strength to reach their private rooms in the Snow Tower, to eat a little of the fragrant chicken broth the cook had warmed for him and to drink a goblet of good red wine, but the effort exhausted him. It took Eleyne and one of his men to undress him and almost carry him to the great bed. Only then could Eleyne dismiss the servants and be alone with her husband.
‘I’ve sent for Gratney and Kirsty. They have been waiting for you here, but they rode to the Garioch today. They’ll spend the night at Inverurie and be back tomorrow,’ she said as she sat on the bed. ‘Oh Donald, we’ve missed you so much.’ Almost shyly she touched his hand.
He smiled. How often had he dreamed of this moment. How could he have remembered Eleyne as an old woman? Drowsy with the wine and his exhaustion, he could feel his eyes closing. He must tell her how much he loved her. Now, before he fell asleep – but already his hand had fallen limply at his side and he had drifted into a fitful doze.
When Donald awoke, Eleyne was lying beside him staring up at the tester above their heads.
‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’ She hadn’t meant to share his bed; it was so long since she had done that. She had just meant to lie beside him for a few minutes, to feel the comfort of his presence.
He moved slightly, feeling for her hand. ‘It’s so good to be home.’
‘And you weren’t ill treated?’
‘As I told you, King Edward sent me his own physicians when I fell ill, and special gifts of food and wine. I’m on the mend, Nel. I’ll soon be my old self.’
‘Of course you will.’ She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘Oh, my love, I’m so pleased you’re home.’ She did not mention Sandy and neither did he.
Gratney and Christian arrived back later that morning. Donald and his eldest son hugged each other for a long, silent moment, then Gratney punched his father gently on the arm. ‘So, what news of King Edward?’ The moment of emotion was over.
‘He has sent us a master mason and a team of builders to strengthen our fortifications.’ Donald smiled grimly. ‘Do you remember Master James of St George at Rhuddlan?’ He glanced at his wife. ‘He is to supervise the building of a new gatehouse for us, it seems, and see to the strengthening of our walls.’ He coughed weakly. ‘The king leaves for Flanders within the month. I have undertaken to go with him.’
Gratney looked at his mother and caught the flash of tight-lipped disapproval. He hid a smile. ‘Mama will forbid it if she can.’
Donald chuckled. ‘I know she will – and fight me tooth and nail for supporting her greatest enemy. But we have no choice.’ There was a tense silence, then he went on, ‘But in this case my lack of health may be on her side. At the moment I can barely sit a horse, I’m so accursed weak!’
As though to substantiate his words, he sat down heavily on a stool. His face was grey with fatigue though he had walked only from the bedchamber to the solar.
Eleyne bit her lip, trying not to show her dismay. ‘Some wine for your father, Gratney, to put some colour into his cheeks,’ she ordered cheerfully. ‘Not that I’m sure I want to put flesh on him to serve Edward Plantagenet.’
Her tone was sufficiently tart to bring a fond smile to her husband’s lips. ‘That’s my Nel.’ He took the wine from his son and drank it in one draught. Two spots of livid colour appeared on his cheekbones. ‘You know, I think I’ll go and rest for a little.’ He staggered to his feet with a tremendous effort.
Gratney stepped forward. ‘Let me help you, papa.’
Eleyne thought he would refuse, but Donald gave a curt nod and took his son’s arm. By the time they reached the door Gratney was almost carrying him.
VI
Kirsty smiled at the Dowager Countess of Buchan and accepted the cup of wine her hostess offered. ‘My mother-in-law was hoping to visit you herself,’ she said, ‘but as you know my father-in-law has just been released from the Tower. He is unwell and she didn’t want to leave him.’
Elizabeth de Quincy bowed slightly and raised an austere eyebrow. ‘Your mother-in-law does not make a habit of visiting me, Lady Christian. Besides, at her age I would have thought her past riding.’ She folded her arms inside her mantle. ‘If the reason for your visit is to see Isobel, I suggest you say so. That young woman needs a sound beating in my opinion. However, perhaps you can talk some sense into her. If you don’t, she will end up killing herself.’
Kirsty’s gasp of horror drew no more than a glare from the countess who, with an imperious click of her fingers, summoned a maid to take Kirsty to Isobel’s solar.
Isobel had just returned from a ride. Her gown was muddy and crumpled and her face streaked with dust. She looked exhausted.
Mairi showed Kirsty to the window embrasure overlooking the sea, and guided Isobel to sit opposite her; then she pulled a screen across the alcove and left them together. The air was full of the wild ringing cries of gulls.
‘Your great-grandmother is very worried about you,’ Kirsty began softly. ‘Mairi’s mother told her how unhappy you are.’ To her horror she saw Isobel’s eyes flood with tears. ‘My dear, is there anything I can do?’
Isobel pressed her lips together, shaking her head. It was several moments before she was sufficiently composed to speak. ‘Tell grandmama I’m all right.’
‘But you’re not.’ In spite of herself, Kirsty found her eyes straying to Isobel’s stomach. The girl was so thin the pregnancy showed even at this early stage.
‘I’m all right,’ Isobel repeated desperately.
‘And your baby?’
‘There is no baby!’ Isobel jumped to her feet, pulled her mantle around herself defensively, and stood staring out of the unglazed window at the sea.
‘I see.’ Kirsty bit her lip, not sure how to proceed. ‘Isobel – ’
Isobel swung round. ‘You’re Robert’s sister, aren’t you? How is he?’ There was a hungry gleam in her eye which Kirsty found almost frightening.
‘He’s well,’ she said guardedly.
‘And his wife’s dead,’ Isobel said quietly. ‘And his daughter is being brought up by you.’
Kirsty nodded, but Isobel had turned back to the window. Outside the sea was darkly heaving slate, relieved now and then by towering white horses which rode the swells and crested against the shore. ‘He must have a son,’ Isobel went on. ‘He must have a son. He will be king, you know.’ She swung round.
Kirsty smiled. ‘I believe so.’
