I
‘The Queen of Scots is with child!’
The messenger took a certain malicious joy in relaying the message to the stunned household of the Earl of Chester. ‘It is his grace’s command that all his subjects share in his joy and give thanks that his prayers have been answered at last. Your aunt, my lady,’ he went on, turning to Eleyne whose face had drained of colour, ‘sends you her especial greetings and hopes that you and your husband will travel north soon to visit her and the king.’
‘You told me I should be king one day!’ John rounded on Eleyne as soon as they were alone. ‘Holy Virgin, and I believed you! How could you tell me such lies?’
‘They weren’t lies,’ Eleyne cried, ‘I told you what was told to me.’ He was standing in the centre of the room, his hands clasped tightly, his knuckles white, visibly trying to control himself. ‘This means nothing.’ She ran to him and put her hands over his. ‘A baby not yet born -? So much could happen. Your succession might not be for many years – King Alexander is not an old man – ’
She had meant it as a reassurance, but his face darkened. ‘He is only eight years older than I. Eight years, Eleyne!’ John smiled at her sadly. ‘And he is a robust man, whereas I…’ He left the sentence unfinished.
‘You are well now and stronger than you have ever been,’ she said firmly. ‘Besides, he is far more likely to die in battle before you, being a king! He has often led his men against the rebels in his kingdom, you told me so yourself.’
‘And I? If I should lead my men to battle, how do you think I’d fare, sweetheart?’ The humour returned to his eyes.
‘Your men would follow you to the ends of the earth.’ She was trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. ‘And you know it. Though I pray to the Blessed Virgin that your cousin leaves you a peaceful inheritance when the time comes. And now, you must send a letter congratulating him on his news and telling him that we shall visit him as soon as it is possible. I want to see this country where I shall be spending so much of my life with its king.’ Reaching up, she kissed him on the lips, and his face showed that the despair had left his eyes. Seconds later his arms were around her and his mouth came down hungrily on hers.
‘You have seen it again? Seen it in the fire?’ he asked. ‘You know what will happen, don’t you?’ He had forgotten that he had forbidden her to look into the fire; told her to close her eyes and pray if she feared the visions were close. The touch of her lips had awakened him. She could see the excitement in his eyes. Reaching up, he began to unfasten her mantle. ‘Tell me, Eleyne. Tell me what you saw.’ In his hurry he had torn the neck of her gown. Bending, he kissed her breasts. Her excitement rose with his, and she wanted to reassure him, to tell him what he so badly needed to hear, but she couldn’t. About the Sight she couldn’t lie.
‘I’ve seen nothing, my love, nothing,’ she breathed. ‘We must wait.’ She was naked now, her gown and kirtle around her knees, cradling his head to her breast as he caught hungrily at the nipple with his teeth. The pain sent the excitement knifing through her belly, and she found she was pulling at his hair, willing him to throw her down and mount her, there on the floor. But already his ardour was cooling; he glanced ruefully at the beauty of her pale body and reached for her gown. ‘Someone might come in – ’
‘Then bar the door, my lord.’ She smiled at him, her hunger in her eyes. ‘Quickly – ’
She pulled the cover from the bed and throwing it down on the floor before the fire, she knelt on it and began with shaking hands to unbraid her hair.
‘Eleyne -’ His voice was husky.
‘Bar the door, my lord.’ She heard the imperious tone in her voice with faint surprise and expected him to frown, but he obeyed her at once. Her fingers still busy with her hair, she knelt upright on the rug, conscious that her breasts beckoned him, conscious as he fumbled with the buckle of his girdle that this time he could not resist her.
When he had finished she lay a long time on her back, gazing at the vaulted stone arch of the ceiling. The sunlight slanted through the mullioned windows, striking the warm colours of the embroidered hangings on the wall, animating them into strange and wonderful life. She felt the chill of sweat drying on her skin. His, not hers: as always, her excitement had died and she was left cradling his head in her arms, her body tight with longing, unslaked and lonely.
Below them the manor house was quiet. Everyone was out about their chores, even the women taking advantage of the cold spring sunshine to gain a respite from the badly ventilated hall. In the lord’s solar the only sound was the sighing of the ashes as they cooled.
II
‘Sire, you must speak to the queen.’ The distraught official was hovering behind Alexander as he paced the great hall. ‘She is pleading for you, sire.’
‘No!’ Through clenched teeth Alexander repeated the word for the tenth time. ‘No! No! No! I do not wish to see her.’
‘But she blames herself, sire – ’
‘With good reason!’ The king swung to face him. ‘She was warned to rest. All the signs told her to rest. It was written in the stars themselves!’ He flung his hand towards the distant roof of the hall. ‘But she took no notice! She knew best! She had to ride with her hawk and now she’s lost the bairn. Oh yes, I blame her. And I do not wish to see her. Now get out of my sight!’
The man bowed unhappily and scurried towards the door at the west end of the hall, his face a picture of disapproval. Outside a cluster of women waited in agitation. One look was enough to tell them the king’s response and dejectedly they hurried away.
The queen’s rooms were full of the sound of her sobbing. It was three days since her miscarriage, but still she could not stop crying. She had not eaten or slept and cried constantly for her husband.
‘Hush, madam, please.’ The distraught lady at the bedside dabbed at her face with a cloth wrung out in rose water. ‘You’ll harm yourself. There will be other babies, you’ll see.’
Joanna spotted the women clustered by the door. She pulled herself up on the pillows, her face swollen and blotchy with tears. ‘Where is he? Is he coming?’
The Princess Margaret, the king’s youngest sister, came forward. She shrugged and shook her head. ‘Soon, my dear, soon. Alexander doesn’t wish to tire you…’
‘That’s because he blames me. He does, doesn’t he? It’s my fault! He knows it’s my fault!’ Her voice rose in a wail. ‘If I hadn’t gone riding; if I had stayed at home and rested…’
‘Hush, hush.’ Margaret took her hand and stroked it unhappily. ‘Don’t upset yourself so much. Rest now.’
‘No! I must see him, I must!’ Joanna’s voice rose in a hysterical scream. Pushing back the sheets, she threw her thin legs over the edge of the bed and staggered to her feet.
‘Your grace, please! Please, come back to bed -’ Her ladies clustered around her, frantically trying to push her back.
‘Where is he? Where is the king?’ Tears were streaming down her face.
‘Joanna, I don’t know where he is – please, please calm yourself -’ Margaret caught her arm. ‘You’ll do no good by trying to find him. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.’
