her eyes huge in the pinched paleness of her face. She looked so vulnerable, so wild, trapped in the cold, dark room with Alice Comyn and her mother-in-law that Eleyne’s heart went out to the child.
‘I would like to talk to Isobel alone,’ she said firmly. She held out her hand and Isobel came to her. She recognised the angle of the girl’s head, the straightness of her shoulders. She had felt like this herself a thousand times in the past – defiant, desolate, despairing. Isobel of Buchan was far, far more like her than any of her own children had been.
She did not speak until they were seated in the window embrasure, both very conscious of the Countess of Buchan’s thoughtful gaze.
‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ Eleyne said. ‘You’re so thin, Isobel. You look as though one breath of wind could break you in two.’
Isobel looked down at her hands and Eleyne noticed the nails were bitten to the quick. ‘I’m well enough, grandmama.’
‘Are you?’ Eleyne’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Does Mairi take care of you?’
Isobel nodded numbly. Then, ‘Grandmama!’ and she threw herself into Eleyne’s arms.
‘My darling.’ Eleyne cradled her close for a long time, aware of Alice and Mairi retiring discreetly to the far side of the solar. Elizabeth stayed where she was. Beyond the shuttered windows Eleyne could hear the sound of the sea, crashing icily on the rocks in the narrow bay.
‘How did it happen?’ Eleyne held the girl at arm’s length, feeling the narrow bones almost brittle beneath her thinness.
Isobel shook her head mutely. ‘We were snowed up at one of the castles along the coast. John was so angry with me.’ Her eyes flooded with tears. ‘He thought I did it on purpose,’ she burst out. ‘That is the stupid part! I had tried everything to get rid of it, but nothing worked. Then he came in and he pushed me and I fell against the corner of the coffer -’ She put her face in her hands as the tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘Are you terribly shocked?’ The words were almost inaudible through her fingers.
Eleyne shifted uneasily on the cushioned seat. The cold wind and the tiring ride in the uncomfortable litter had set her bones aching so much she found it painful to sit still. She pulled Isobel to her and the girl subsided on the dried heather at her feet, her arms on Eleyne’s knees.
‘No, I’m not shocked, I’m just distressed that you should be so unhappy.’ Eleyne looked into Isobel’s eyes. ‘I know what it is like to be married to a man you hate.’
‘You do?’ Isobel looked up almost eagerly. ‘How did you bear it?’
Eleyne did not answer for a while. She frowned, trying to remember. ‘For a long time I was in love with someone else,’ she said at last. ‘The thought of him helped a little.’
She was taken aback by the blaze of excitement in Isobel’s eyes. ‘King Alexander! I remember! I know the story! It’s the same with me! Oh, great-grandmama, there’s someone I love too! Someone handsome and brave – and young!’ Her eyes flooded with tears again. ‘But I can’t go to him, I’m a prisoner here.’ Her voice rose passionately.
‘Hush, child.’ The others were talking together at the table and did not appear to have heard. Only Mairi was looking in their direction, her expression wary and thoughtful.
‘I’m sure your husband would let you come to Kildrummy,’ Eleyne said gently. She was horrified by how cold Isobel’s hands were. ‘I will tell him I’ve invited you to keep me company for a while. The men of this country will be kept busy fighting for Scotland’s freedom – I suspect for a very long time. Edward is not going to give in easily, I know him. He will not forgive the defeat at Stirling Bridge. He will come back from Flanders bent on revenge.’
Isobel subsided on to her heels. The fire in her eyes had died. Then she looked up again. ‘Who do you believe should be King of Scots, grandmama?’
Eleyne sat back. ‘I must confess I favour the Bruces’ claim. Both John Balliol and Robert are descended from the royal house of Canmore through my first husband’s sisters, but Isabel Bruce, my friend, was John’s mother’s younger sister. Dervorguilla, John Balliol’s mother, as daughter of the elder sister, inherited Fotheringhay forty years ago when I forfeited my dower lands, and I believe the lawyers were probably right that Balliol has the senior claim.’ She raised her hand to fend off the storm of protest she could see building in Isobel’s eyes. ‘But I also believe that Robert is a leader of men. John Balliol, with the best will in the world, is not.’
She paused thoughtfully. Isobel had blushed scarlet. Seeing her great-grandmother had noticed, the girl buried her face in her arms on Eleyne’s knee. Eleyne put her hand on Isobel’s head. ‘So, that’s it,’ she said. ‘Oh, Isobel, my dear.’
Wordlessly Isobel shook her head without looking up.
‘Does he know?’ But even as she said the words Eleyne remembered her conversation with Robert the night after Marjorie was born.
Eleyne swallowed the wave of grief that it should be this child, this beloved great-grand-daughter, who had caused her own daughter so much unhappiness in the last weeks of her life.
As though sensing what her great-grandmother was thinking, Isobel looked up. ‘I know he was married to Isabella, but I loved him first!’ she cried in anguish. ‘I have loved him since I was four years old! By rights he is mine!’
‘My dear, you have a husband, Robert can never be yours.’ Eleyne kept her voice steady. ‘You should not even think about him.’
‘You had a husband when you were King Alexander’s mistress!’ Isobel cried rebelliously. ‘You just admitted it. And the whole country knew about your affair!’
‘I suppose Lady Buchan told you that,’ Eleyne said drily. Elizabeth de Quincy was the daughter of Roger, the Constable of Scotland, and thus her dead husband Robert’s niece.
‘So, you should understand how I feel.’ Isobel’s voice was passionate. ‘I thought you would understand.’ She sounded cheated.
‘I do understand.’ Eleyne cupped the girl’s stormy face between her hands. ‘Believe me, I understand. I also understand that John of Buchan is a very different man from Robert de Quincy! Be careful, my darling. Be very, very careful.’
There was a thoughtful silence, then Isobel looked up again. ‘Grandmama, don’t you see?’ Her eyes again blazed with excite ment. ‘It is I who am going to fulfil your destiny! My father told mama a long time ago – he didn’t know I was listening – that it was foretold that one of your children would be a queen. It’s me! It has to be me. John will die and I will marry Robert! Don’t you see?’ She knelt up, her forearms on Eleyne’s knees. ‘I am to fulfil the prophecy of your Welsh bard! All we have to do now is help Robert become king!’
‘Isobel – ’
‘I know it’s true, great-grandmama! I know it, I feel it here.’ She hugged her chest dramatically. ‘Please, you must understand, you’re the only one who can.’
Eleyne sighed. And so that foolish story went on, from generation to generation.
‘Great-grandmama?’ Isobel was looking up at her, pleading.
Eleyne smiled. ‘I shall certainly do all I can to help Robert become king one day,’ she said. ‘John Balliol is not the man to rule this country.’
XIII
Duncan rode the horse on a loose rein, deep in thought. The snows were melting fast, the air was full of the clean wet cold smell of the newly released waters which cascaded down the hills.
They had killed a wild boar and he had left his men to load the carcass on to the garron and bring it home. There would be fresh meat at the high table when his mother returned to Kildrummy.
Christiana was waiting for him there with Ruairi. He should be content. Why then did he feel so strange? He reined in, his hand pressed to his chest. He could feel his heart thumping as though he had been involved in some violent wrestling match. His breath was constricted, labouring. Sweat had broken out on his brow; something was
