Seagrave tells me that if I have difficulty in ensuring your obedience I should give the woman up to the hangman.’
Eleyne gasped and a look of triumph crossed his face. ‘My shoes, madam,’ he commanded again. He did not sit down and, almost blind with rage, she was forced to go down on her knees to remove his shoes and then his hose. She lifted the heavy mantle from his shoulders and hung it, at his instructions, on the peg on the wall, then she unfastened his gown, hanging the heavy girdle beside the mantle. His chest was covered in black hair and his shoulders were very broad. She felt a catch of panic as he stood before her dressed only in his linen drawers, then – deliberately and slowly – he raised his hand and unfastened the ties that held them up, allowing them to fall.
‘Now you, wife,’ he said. ‘Take off that hideous shift. Let us see what I have got for my side of the bargain.’
Fists clenched, she tried not to look at him as he stood so blatantly before her. There was complete silence in the room, then he laughed. ‘Perhaps I should call my manservant to undress you, Lady Chester,’ he said quietly.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Somehow she steadied her hands so she could untie the ribbon which fastened her bed gown and let it fall to the ground, then, almost defiantly, she pulled open the neck of her shift and allowed it too to slide from her shoulders. She did not look at him. She felt his hands running over her body; she was completely cold. She allowed him to lead her to the bed and she lay down when he commanded it, and allowed him to force her legs apart without protest. It was as if a screen separated her from her body.
It hurt; it hurt very badly and she bit back her tears, turning her head away on the pillow so that he would not see her face, but it was soon over and he withdrew, leaving her feeling strangely inviolate. He might do what he wished with her body, but he could not reach her.
When he lay at last, snoring loudly, sprawled across the bed, she crawled away and pulled on her bed gown. Then she went to the fire. She was completely numb.
The fire had died almost to nothing – the ashes were white and the log which still burned was sour and smoky with its last heat. Stooping wearily to the pile of wood in the basket, she threw some on. For a moment nothing happened, then the flames began to flicker into life.
A horseman was galloping fast towards her, one hand on the reins, one held out towards her. She heard him call her name.
‘Who are you?’
She breathed the words out loud, leaning closer to the fire. Her hair fell across her shoulders.
He was coming closer now and she could almost see his face. He was smiling. ‘Wait for me,’ he called. ‘Wait for me, my love.’ She could hear the thunder of his horse’s hooves, see the swirl of its caparison, and suddenly she recognised him.
‘What in the name of the Blessed Virgin do you think you are doing?’ The hand on her shoulder was so heavy she lost her balance and sprawled forward in the hearth. Her husband stood over her, naked, his face white with fury in the firelight. ‘Who were you talking to? Who?’ She tried to dodge his kick but it struck her thigh and she winced. ‘What were you doing?’
She looked up at him through the dishevelled curtain of her hair and saw fear in his eyes behind the anger.
She laughed. ‘What do you think I was doing?’ she whispered. ‘I was looking into the flames to see the future. Scrying. Seeing the outcome of my marriage.’
He licked his lips nervously. ‘And what did you see?’ In spite of himself, he had to ask.
‘I saw death,’ she answered slowly and she saw him blanch.
It was untrue. She had seen Alexander of Scotland.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I
At dawn Eleyne crept from the bed and went to the stables. The grooms stared at the bruises on her face and were embarrassed as they brought out one of the palfreys for her to ride. She gave Invictus titbits, kissed his nose and left him behind. She knew already she could never let Robert know how much she loved the horse.
She did not see her husband again until supper, when she sat beside him at the high table, sharing his dish as she had shared John’s. He appeared to be in high good humour.
‘So you rode out without me?’ He dabbled his fingers in the silver basin of rose water the page held for him and reached for the napkin. ‘Why was that?’ His voice was innocently quiet, his face bland, pleasantly interested.
‘You were asleep,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ She waved the page away and signalled for the meal to begin.
He smiled, holding out his goblet for wine. ‘In future you will remain in bed until I give you permission to rise. Then we will ride together.’
‘If you wish.’ She felt her temper flare, but she forced herself to smile back at him. She was not going to defy him before the whole household and give him the chance to rebuke her publicly.
She ate little and drank less, watching silently as he called again and again for wine. The other men at the high table were watching, their expressions inscrutable as they saw Robert’s hand waver on the stem of the goblet and tip a few drops of wine on to the table.
‘We have musicians with us from Provence,’ John de Lacy said at last. ‘Shall I ask them to play?’
Robert rose unsteadily to his feet, stared around and then smiled. ‘My wife and I are going to bed,’ he announced, shaping his words with care. ‘You may ask the devil to play for you, if you wish!’ He caught Eleyne’s wrist and pulled her to her feet. ‘Madam.’
Eleyne was calm, conscious that every eye in the crowded great hall was on her. As they walked between the tables to the door at the far end of the hall, a total silence descended on the assembled household.
The bedchamber was dark, the fire banked and warm. Robert released her wrist and walked to the centre of the room. ‘Why is there only one candle?’ He sounded peevish.
‘They did not expect us so soon from supper.’ Eleyne went to the table and touched the candle to the others in the candelabra. As each flame caught and flared, the room grew brighter, though the vaulted ceiling stayed dark. Outside it was bitterly cold; the wind was sighing in the battlements.
‘Boy!’ Robert bellowed for the servant who had followed them from the hall. ‘More lights. I want to see what I am doing!’ He threw himself down on the chair by the fire and watched as the boy moved round the room, lighting branch after branch of candles. On the far side of the chamber, the bed loomed dark beneath its hangings.
‘Enough. Now fetch a bucket of water.’ Robert sounded completely sober.
‘Water?’ Eleyne echoed.
‘Water,’ he repeated, and he laughed.
‘Why do you want water?’ A small unacknowledged knot of fear tightened in her stomach.
‘You will see.’ He folded his arms.
It was a long time before the boy reappeared, panting, with a large bucket of water. He put it on the floor with relief, slopping some over his shoes. From the door and down the stairs a wet trail showed the way he had come with his burden from the well.
Robert smiled; he did not seem to have grown impatient with the long wait. ‘Throw it on the fire.’
‘Sir Robert?’ The boy stared at him.
‘You heard me. Throw it on the fire.’ Robert stood up and the boy hastily picked up the heavy pail. Staggering slightly, he carried it to the hearth and tipped the water over the fire, which hissed and died in clouds of steam. Immediately the room began to grow chill.
Robert nodded grim approval. ‘Now leave us.’
The boy ran for the door, the pail banging against his knees.
‘Why did you put out the fire?’ Eleyne kept her voice steady with difficulty. She could feel her anger and fear
