never seen him kiss one or look so animated. She stood on the steps, staring down at her husband, feeling the wind cold on her face, and became aware that it was blotchy and swollen with crying. She looked like a stupid, ugly child while this tall elegant fair-haired woman was beautiful.
She realised they were looking up at her. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she began to walk down towards them, summoning as much dignity as she could: she was John’s wife. Whoever this woman was, she did not have that distinction.
They were smiling.
‘Eleyne, come here, my love,’ John called. He had time only to whisper to his companion that she had arrived in the nick of time and to ask what in the name of all the saints had kept her. ‘I want you to meet my most favourite person in the whole world,’ he went on, oblivious of the desolation in Eleyne’s face at his words – ‘my sister, Isabel.’
Isabel, married to the irascible Scots nobleman, Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale, had received her brother’s letter at her manor of Writtle in Essex. It had begged her to come to Fotheringhay on her way back to Scotland and advise him on what to do about his wife. His brief summary of his problems had left her intrigued, amused and exasperated at the general helplessness of men when it came to matters of the emotions. Looking at Eleyne now, she saw a lonely and unhappy child. She had sensed as much as seen the moment of jealousy in the girl’s eyes as she had watched John kissing her – so the child felt something for him then – and now she saw the wistful longing which replaced it, almost as if Eleyne had sent her an unconscious appeal.
Isabel removed her gloves, then she held out her arms. As she kissed Eleyne on both cheeks, she glanced over the girl’s head towards her secret weapon, her son Robert. If Eleyne of Huntingdon were really a witch, a tomboy, a brilliant breakneck rider and an uncontrollable wanderer, twelve-year-old Robert could match her, fault for fault.
‘You’re crazy,’ John exploded later as his sister unfolded her plan. ‘I brought you here to try to inculcate some sense into her and to cheer her up, not bring her a playmate who will make her worse!’
Unabashed, Isabel reached for the glass of wine her brother had given her. For her he served nothing but the best in his richly enamelled, priceless Venetian glasses.
‘You told me you wanted to get rid of that awful hunted look,’ Isabel said firmly. ‘And you want to hear her laugh. Rob will make her laugh. I guarantee it.’
XV
Three days later young Robert Bruce was lying in wait for Eleyne in the stables.
‘I’m going riding with you,’ he said as soon as he spotted her. ‘Mama says you ride a great stallion.’
Eleyne felt her heart sink. She did not want this boy to ride Invictus. She did not even want him to see the horse. Dragging her feet, she walked towards Robert and gave him a determined brittle smile.
‘He’s cast a shoe,’ she lied. ‘If we ride we’ll ride Sable and Silver.’ The two mares were matched for height and speed, both well mannered and willing. She eyed her companion cautiously. She was two inches taller, but he was sturdier by far. They would probably be well matched in the saddle; but he would be heavier which would give her the advantage.
He caught her sizing him up and grinned. ‘Do you know why we’ve come here?’ he asked, his tone deceptively friendly.
Instinctively she knew she shouldn’t rise to the question, but, as instinctively, she knew she would have to ask it.
‘Why?’
He moved closer and lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I saw the letter Uncle John sent mama. It said the most terrible things about you!’
‘What things?’ Stung, Eleyne felt her face growing hot.
‘Dreadful things!’ Robert crowed. He stepped back, ready to run if necessary.
‘I don’t believe you. Anyway your mother wouldn’t have shown you John’s letter.’
‘She didn’t! I sneaked it out of her writing box!’
‘That’s dishonest -’ Eleyne’s temper was beginning to flare. She stared at the boy in disbelief. Apart from Luned and Isabella, she had never had a friend her own age, and certainly not one who had taunted her like this. She didn’t know what to do, and hesitated, torn between wanting to run away and wanting to know what the letter said.
‘I don’t suppose you can even read properly,’ she said scornfully.
The barb went home. ‘Of course I can,’ he retorted at once. ‘It said you were a strange, haunted child!’ He stuck out his tongue at her. ‘It said you saw ghosts in every shadow and that your nurse was a witch.’ He danced away a few steps, tempting her to chase him. ‘It said you were weird!’
‘I’m not!’ She was furious.
‘You are. You see ghosts.’
‘So what? Can’t you?’ She went on to the attack.
Her change of mood took him aback. He frowned, then reluctantly shook his head.
She sensed triumph: ‘You would be scared out of your mind if you saw one.’
‘I wouldn’t.’ It was his turn to be on the defensive.
‘You would.’
‘Wouldn’t!’
‘All right then. Prove it.’ Caution was thrown to the winds. ‘I’ll take you to a room where I saw a ghost.’
Robert hesitated for a fraction of a second, then he nodded. ‘Go on then.’
‘What about riding?’ Eleyne smiled, daring him to take the escape route. He shook his head firmly. ‘Later,’ he said.
Both had forgotten that she was Countess of Huntingdon and mistress of the castle. It was as two truant children that they dodged out of sight of the stables and raced across the courtyard towards the keep, sliding with the invisibility only children can manage across the lower chamber and up the dark stairs towards Lord Albemarle’s bedroom. At the top of the stairs they stopped, panting.
‘It was in here,’ Eleyne whispered. The sun was on the far side of the keep this time and the room was in shadow.
Robert peered past her. ‘What did it look like?’ he hissed.
She smiled. ‘Just a lady. A very beautiful lady in strange black clothes. She had lace here round her face,’ she gestured with her hands, ‘and a veil.’
‘Did she say anything?’
Eleyne shook her head.
‘She doesn’t sound very frightening,’ Robert scoffed.
Eleyne frowned. ‘She wasn’t frightening exactly,’ she said. It was hard to describe the feelings she experienced when she saw these figures who slipped through the fine gauze curtain which was time and then slipped away again. She surveyed the room, then tiptoed through the rounded stone arch. ‘Come on,’ she said quietly. ‘I was in the little chapel through here.’ She gestured towards the doorway in the far wall. ‘Then I looked back and saw her there, by the window.’
She crept into the oratory, Robert close at her heels. The tiny chapel was very dark. Both children held their breath as they stared round.
‘Can you smell anything strange?’ Eleyne whispered, her mouth very close to Robert’s ear.
He swallowed nervously and gave a cautious sniff. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Incense,’ she murmured. ‘When she came there was a smell of incense.’
Robert felt the hairs standing up on the back of his neck; he wished they had gone riding instead. ‘I can’t smell anything.’ His eyes swivelled round in his skull as he tried not to move his head. ‘There’s nothing here. Let’s go.’
‘No. Wait.’ Eleyne could smell it. The rich exotic fragrance drifted imperceptibly in the still air of the oratory. ‘She’s here,’ she breathed.
