Child of the Phoenix

and Aberdeen. Stocks were low. It had been a cold winter and it was a late spring. The small fields around the village were hazed green with new-planted oats and barley, but it would be a long time until the harvest.

Bethoc watched her lady’s feverish activity with alarm and delight. Only five months earlier Lady Eleyne had seemed within weeks of death; now she was everywhere, her stiffness and weakness all but forgotten. The tapping of her walking stick became a familiar sound in the courtyards and corridors of the castle. Once again she was often in the stables, watching her mares as they fed, or leaning thoughtfully against the wall in the smithy as Hal Osborne paused from forging weapons to fit new shoes, missing nothing as he laid the red-hot irons on his anvil, hammering them to shape before plunging them into the tank of water and clamping them to the horses’ hooves in clouds of steam.

She was standing outside the postern, scanning the men who were cutting back the undergrowth in the Den when one of the men perched on the rocks above the burn gave a shout. She saw him jump down out of sight into the rocks, then he reappeared and began to scramble up towards her.

Even before she saw it in his hand she knew what he had found. She tensed, her fingers tightening on the handle of her walking stick.

‘My lady.’ It was John of Mossat, a small man with bright brown eyes and a head of unruly dark hair, the reason for his absence from the war immediately apparent as she saw his twisted withered right arm. He polished something against the grubby hodden of his belted tunic and held it out to her.

The phoenix.

‘Someone must have dropped it, my lady,’ he said, puzzled that she did not put out her hand to take it. ‘It’s gey pretty.’

Even the encrustation of mud and moss could not dull the gemstone flames. She stared at it for a long time before she remembered the man standing before her. She looked up and he was astonished to see tears in her eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He shrugged and turned away, disappointed at her reaction. He had already forgotten it when two days later Alan Gordon appeared himself at the door of his bothy and pressed a small bagful of silver coins, a fortune beyond his wildest dreams, into his hand as a reward.

XI

‘So you have come back to me.’ In the silence of her bedchamber, Eleyne poured some water from a ewer into an earthenware bowl. By the light of a single branch of candles, she dropped the jewel into the water and agitated it gently, watching the dirt float to the surface.

When it was clean, she dried it carefully on a scrap of silk, then she held it up to the light.

‘Where are you?’ she whispered. Her hands, holding the phoenix, had begun to tremble.

The room was very quiet. On the floor above, Bethoc and the ladies were sitting quietly around their own fire, gossiping as they sewed or spun. Like the men of the castle they viewed their countess’s frenetic preparations for a siege with long-suffering scepticism, putting her caution down to old age, but half afraid deep down that maybe she had had a premonition…

Alexander? Eleyne’s fingers tightened on the phoenix. ‘Where are you?’

The room was completely silent; the fire burned low. Please don’t forsake me now. I need you. She stared down at the jewelled bird in her hands. Scotland needs you. But there was no reply. The room was cold and empty and there was no gentle touch on her shoulder to reassure her that she was not alone.

With a small sigh she rummaged in her jewel casket for a chain, her stiff swollen fingers picking over treasures which brought back so many memories. She found one at last, and threading the pendant on to it, put it around her neck, slipping it beneath the soft fabric of gown and shift. The enamelled jewels were cold beneath her breasts, and she caught her breath as she shut the casket lid and turned towards the fire. She would never take the phoenix off again.

She was asleep when he came at last, a shadow in the darkness, cast upon the wall by the dying candles. For a long time he stood, looking down at the sleeping face, then at last he smiled. His touch upon her hair was no more than the gentle shiver of a passing draught.

XII

The lack of news was the worst part of the next few weeks. The castle waited through the long spring without word from the south. From time to time rumours reached them of the activities of King Edward’s armies, under the direction of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. He had arrived in Scotland under the dragon banner – the fearful symbol of total destruction which would give no quarter. Neither women nor children would be spared if they supported the rebel king. Eleyne heard the news white-faced and went to look down into the castle courtyard. She had done all she could to prepare. Little Donald and her name-sake, Ellie, were safe at Kildrummy. Now they could do nothing but wait.

XIII

June

The last thing she expected was to find King Robert on her doorstep. He slipped into the castle in the strange half-light of the early June night, accompanied by a few dozen men and several women. ‘I want you to keep my daughter here, mother-in-law.’

He raised Eleyne to her feet as, wrapped in a bed gown, her hair loose down her back, she knelt before him in the great hall. ‘I’m terrified what would happen to her if she were captured. And my queen. And Kirsty and Mary, and Isobel. I’m going to leave Nigel and Robert Boyd here to help you hold the castle.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the Countess of Buchan who stood near him and Eleyne saw them exchange smiles. ‘Things are not going well for us.’ He scowled with weariness. ‘We’ll stay a day or two, to rest my men, then we’ll be on our way. We have to confront Pembroke and drive him out of Scotland. Unless we can do that, we’re lost. I’ll feel safer if I know the ladies are here out of harm’s way.’

He was as good as his word. For three days the men ate and slept and repaired their weapons, then in the dawn of the fourth, they slipped away as quietly as they had come.

Sir Nigel Bruce came to the Snow Tower to tell Eleyne that they had gone. A tall young man, with his brother’s good looks and hazel eyes, he smiled when he saw her dismay at his news. ‘He thought it better to leave quietly. He didn’t want any scenes. Elizabeth has not made it easy for him, and she is not making it easy for Isobel either. I suppose you can’t blame her. She knows of course that they are lovers.’ He looked at the old woman to gauge her reaction, and noted with approval her lack of shock or surprise. ‘They’ve tried to hide it, they’ve been very careful, but it’s hard. Travelling, camping… We have tried to allow them time together when they can find it, and Elizabeth of course has resented it bitterly.’ He shrugged. ‘But she is no support to Robert. He needs someone who is behind him totally, and Isobel gives him that. She’s as passionate in her support of the cause as she is in her love for him.’

Eleyne pulled her bed gown around her thin shoulders. ‘Then I’m glad they’ve had some time together. Tell Isobel to come to me here later. I should like to talk to her. And make sure our queen,’ she grimaced at the words, ‘has all the comforts that Kildrummy can offer her. It will perhaps mollify her a little. I shall pray for Robert. And for Scotland.’

Sir Nigel scowled. ‘So shall we all, Lady Eleyne, so shall we all.’