‘They are both well,
‘So, Gruffydd still plans to win back his inheritance one day?’
‘He will, soon. He will.’ Rhonwen had ridden to Degannwy from Chester and spoken to Gruffydd before her ride north. After that she had journeyed to Aber and spent an hour in private conversation with Llywelyn. The results of the conversation had surpassed her wildest dreams and put the death of Einion temporarily out of her mind. The prince did not speak of restoring to Gruffydd his birthright of North Wales, but he spoke of a far greater scheme and he had entrusted her with verbal messages for Eleyne and through her to Lord Chester and the King of the Scots. Nothing was to be written; nothing risked. Correctly judging that in this matter at least Rhonwen would be inestimably useful, Llywelyn had trusted her with the secrets of three nations.
‘We must talk alone,
Eleyne scanned the other woman’s face and nodded. ‘We join the king and queen for supper in the castle hall. After that we’ll talk.’
The candles had burned low, the soft beeswax clotting in sweet yellow lumps on the table. They had talked for a long time of Llywelyn’s plan for an alliance between himself and Alexander and the leaders of the growing baronial opposition in England to King Henry. Later, when he returned from the king’s hall they would talk, in secret, to John, but for now the topic was closed. Rhonwen, whose eyes had burned with cold fanaticism as she described the plan, sat back exhausted, too tired even to reach for the mead the servants had poured before they left the two women alone in the small guest chamber. But still Rhonwen was holding something back. Eleyne leaned forward, her elbows on the table, and looked through the flame of the candle at the other woman’s face with its shifting mask of shadow. The room was intensely quiet after the noise of the great hall.
‘What is it, Rhonwen? What have you not told me?’ Her voice was gentle, persuasive, but Rhonwen noticed there was an undertone of command there, an echo of her father.
She sighed. ‘When the snows were still thick on the ground, you had a letter from Lord Einion.’ There was a long silence. Eleyne’s eyes did not leave her face. ‘He commanded you to go to him on Mon.’
‘And what happened to the letter?’ Eleyne asked.
‘I burned it.’ Rhonwen could feel the cold draught at the back of her neck. Her mouth had gone dry. ‘I wanted you to be happy with your husband. I knew you did not want to come back so soon to Gwynedd.’
‘And did you tell Einion that?’
‘He knows.’ Rhonwen shivered and Eleyne saw her hand go surreptitiously to her throat where the amulet lay hidden beneath her gown. ‘And he was angry with me.’
‘What did he want to tell me, do you know?’ Eleyne asked.
Rhonwen put her hands over her eyes. Silently she shook her head.
‘Then I shall go to see him when we return south. We are going home soon.’
‘No, no,
It was no less than the truth, but she didn’t believe it herself. If Eleyne had been coming, he would have waited for her – he would have found a way to stay alive until she came.
‘I wonder what he wanted to say to me,’ Eleyne said after another silence. There was no reproach in her voice, no anger, only curiosity.
Rhonwen swallowed. ‘He’s tried to tell me,’ she whispered, ‘three times he’s tried to tell me…’
Eleyne felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift and stir. Einion and Michael had both seen her destiny. What else could Einion have seen that he would have held death itself at bay to tell her?
CHAPTER NINE
I
‘Don’t go! Please, don’t go!’ Joanna threw herself at her hus band’s feet, sobbing.
‘Joanna, lass…’ The king’s patience was wearing thin.
‘Please. You’ll be killed! You mustn’t go.’
‘I have to go.’ Pulling her to her feet, he set her aside as if she had been a rag doll in his path and beckoned forward once more the men who had been trying to arm him. ‘I have had enough of these rebels in Galloway. I mean to bring those people under my rule once and for all. They have disobeyed me and tried to set up a bastard lord as their leader. I mean to make them accept Alan of Galloway’s daughters as his heirs, with my sheriffs to uphold my authority. Now please, my sweet lady, leave me.’
‘Lord Chester isn’t going with you, and Alan’s widow Margaret is one of his sisters!’ she flung at him. ‘He cares about what happens to Margaret and his nieces, but he has more sense than to ride into a nest of thieves and rebels!’ Her voice had risen again to a panic-stricken shriek. ‘Perhaps he means to stay here and keep himself safe to inherit your throne when you are killed – ’
After two years of travelling around the Chester and Huntingdon estates, and three more visits to London, Eleyne and John had once more been invited north to Scotland.
Alexander frowned. ‘That is not true. Lord Chester is not well enough to ride and you know it.’ He raised his arms as the mail hauberk was settled on his shoulders over his heavy, padded gambeson. The armourer buckled the cuirass over it, and finally came the surcoat. ‘I’ll be back for Margaret’s wedding, lass, you’ll see.’ He spoke heartily, trying to cheer her. ‘You help her with all her finery. That’ll keep you busy and I’ll be back before you know it.’
Joanna gave a weak smile, trying to pull herself together. She was ashamed of her tears. She had seen her husband off to war so many times, always fearful but always courageous – until now. It had been as much a shock to her as it was to him to find that she was shaking, wanting to cling to him, wanting to keep him with her. They both knew why. Unspoken between them was the tally of months since the miscarriage with still no sign of another pregnancy, and the presence of the Earl of Chester, summoned back to Scotland ostensibly for the wedding of the king’s sister to Gilbert, the Earl Marshal of England, but in reality so that the heir presumptive would be on hand should anything happen to the king.
Alexander waved his men aside and, shrugging his shoulders beneath the heavy weight of his armour, strode towards the door. ‘I shall bid you farewell outside before the court, Joanna. See to it you send me to war with a smile and your favour in my helm.’ She was the queen; she must find it within her to be strong.
The army which had been gathering for days beyond the castle walls had broken camp at last. The ranks of armed men were ready to march, waiting only for their king to lead them. In the courtyard before the tower Alexander turned and kissed his wife’s hand. Joanna’s eyes were red and swollen, but she managed to restrain her weeping. Beside her stood Eleyne, her face white. As Alexander took her hand, she curtseyed low, not looking at his face. ‘Sweet Christ go with you, your grace.’ Her voice was a whisper. He tightened his grip on her fingers briefly, then moved on to his sister Margaret, pretty gentle Margaret, soon to be the wife of the Earl Marshal of England. He smiled at her, and received a reassuring smile in return. His farewells made, he raised his hand to the assembled courtiers and turned towards his horse.
II
