her screams. Rhonwen, her pot of healing salve in her hands, ran at once to help, but Isabella took one look at her and screamed again.
‘Murderess! Sorceress! You did this.
She put the pot of salve on the coffer near Eleyne and regarded it sadly. ‘She is blaming me,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘She claims I did it for you.’
Eleyne grew cold. ‘For me?’ she echoed. They stared at each other in the shadowy room. The only sound was the moan of the wind. ‘Did you?’ Eleyne’s whisper was barely audible.
IX
The snow started in earnest that night: soft, thick, silent snow, whirling in from the north, smothering mountains and valleys alike in deep feathery drifts which, as the grey dawn came, turned from shadow-white to grey and then to blue. The water of the river slowed to a sluggish crawl, held back by icicles and frost-hard tree roots, and in the stables the water in the horses’ buckets was solid ice.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Rhonwen said quietly. Her breath was a cloud in the clean air. The horses too breathed dragon plumes in the silence. ‘What happened to Invictus?’
Eleyne sighed. ‘I left him at Chester. It would have been wrong to bring him back here. Lord Huntingdon will take care of him. He’s a valuable horse.’ The words sounded as though she had been trying to persuade herself. ‘How is Isabella?’ She hadn’t turned from the door on which she was leaning, watched from a distance by her father’s grooms.
‘She’ll live to bear more children, never fear.’ Rhonwen pursed her lips. ‘She’s strong, that one.’
Eleyne shook her head: ‘There will be no more children, not for Isabella.’
Rhonwen closed her eyes. ‘So. Then that is the will of the gods. You saw that in the fire,
Eleyne shrugged. ‘No, there are some things I just know.’
‘And what do you see for yourself, girl? Or is it just for others you have the Sight?’
Eleyne rested her chin on her folded arms. ‘I have never seen anything for myself. Perhaps there is no future for me.’
‘You mustn’t talk like that.’
‘I’m sorry. I am not very cheerful today.’ Straightening, Eleyne looked at her directly and Rhonwen frowned, sensing yet again the new determination there, strengthened by the prince’s lingering coldness. ‘Where is Einion?’
‘There was some scandal. The prince heard it and suggested Einion leave his court for a while. If you want to see him I’m sure I can find him -’ Rhonwen looked doubtfully at the whirling whiteness in the courtyard.
‘No!’ Eleyne’s voice was sharp. ‘I don’t want to see him!’ She turned her back on the horses and pulled her cloak hood over her veil. ‘Come. I want to speak to Isabella.’
X
‘Keep away from me!’ Isabella huddled beneath her covers, her eyes huge in her white face. ‘You have bewitched me, all of us. You have the evil eye! First papa, then Cousin John, and now me! Everyone you go near dies!’ Her lip trembled and two huge tears welled up in her eyes.
‘That is not true.’ Eleyne had stopped near the doorway, conscious of the half-dozen pairs of eyes turned in her direction. At least two of Isabella’s ladies crossed themselves and one, she saw, made the sign against the devil. ‘I wish you no harm; I am your friend – ’
‘You are not my friend!’ Isabella’s voice was heavy with bitterness. ‘You’re jealous! Jealous of my marriage; jealous of my happiness; jealous of my baby -’ She started sobbing loudly and was immediately surrounded by her women. One stayed behind and said: ‘Please leave, Lady Chester. You see how upset the princess is.’
‘It’s not true.’ Eleyne was still staring at Isabella. ‘I’m not jealous. I wished her no harm – ’
‘Of course you didn’t. Please go, my lady, please.’ She ushered Eleyne to the door. ‘Let my princess sleep now. I am sure she will be calmer later.’
The corridor was dark, lit by a single rush lamp at the corner of the passage, and for a few minutes Eleyne was alone.
The figure was barely a shadow, a darker place on the darkness of the wall. She looked at it and it was gone.
‘Who’s there?’ she asked sharply. There was no reply. From Isabella’s bedchamber behind her, there was no sound. There was nothing to hear but the wind.
She made her way down the passage to the staircase and peered down. The steps vanished into darkness. ‘Who’s there?’ she called again, her voice steadier now. Almost without realising, she began to descend the stairs, her shoes silent on the wood, the only sound the soft swish of her skirts as they followed her, dragging a little down each steep step, catching now and then on a rough, splintered edge.
At the bottom she stopped again. The stairs ended in an inner hallway. To her right a curtained archway led into the great hall where the bulk of the household sat or sprawled, listening to a recitation by a poet from Powys. To her left a dark wooden passageway linked the hall with the other scattered buildings of the palace complex. Again without realising why, she turned down it. It was dark; from the far end she caught the unsteady flicker of light from the torch one of the watch had thrust into a sconce on the wall, perilously near the roof thatch. Beyond it a barred door led into the courtyard. There was no sign of the guard as she turned the corner. The whole of the building was silent, save for the wind which moaned in the roof timbers and howled in the doorways and passages before roaring on up the steep valley away from Aber.
She reached the door and looked around; there was still no sign of the watch. The passageway was empty. The kitchens beyond seemed deserted. The cooks, too, after scouring their pans and damping down the great cooking fires, had crept into the back of the hall to hear the poetry.
She turned to the door and, as if obeying some distant call, raised her hands to the bar which held it closed. It was heavy, cut from a plank of seasoned oak and slotted into two iron hoops, one on either side of the frame. She grasped the bar and pulled; it didn’t move. She frowned, her head slightly to one side as if still listening to a voice in the wind, which moved her skirts around her ankles and made the torch behind her hiss and smoke. Was there someone there? Someone calling her? She listened again and the small hairs on the back of her neck stirred.
At her second fierce tug the door bar came away from one of its slots, rattling back and then, the end too heavy for her to hold, falling with a crash from her hands. With a determined effort she eased the other end free, and jumped back as the whole bar fell to the ground. Immediately the door swung inwards, opened by the pressure of the wind, and the torch behind her went out. Eleyne stood quite still, feeling the wind tearing at her clothes, listening to the roar as the trees on the hillside bent and streamed before it, then cautiously she stepped over the bar and slipped into the snow-covered courtyard.
There were two men on guard at the river gate, huddling for shelter beneath the wooden stockade which guarded the lower end of the palace.
‘Open the gate!’ Eleyne heard the words whipped from her lips and torn spinning into the distance. Her veil dragged at her hair, fighting to be free under the hood of her cloak.
‘My lady?’ One of the men held up his dark lantern. ‘We have orders to allow no one in or out after dark.’ His shadowed, angular face was highlighted by the faint glimmer of the burning candle behind the polished horn screens. There was a naked sword in his other hand.
Eleyne drew herself up. ‘Those orders do not apply to me. Open the gate and close it behind me. I shall knock when I return.’
She saw the man glance uncertainly at his companion, saw the other nod, and saw the superstitious fear in the
