Child of the Phoenix

  ‘But she loves me.’ Donald’s chin stuck out mutinously.

  ‘I dare say she does, you’re a handsome enough young man and I hear her fleshly appetites are insatiable! No doubt she has used her magical arts to ensnare you just as she did the king.’ He sighed. ‘But you have to leave her alone.’

  ‘She has not ensnared me. I love her. I have loved her from the first moment I saw her. I have loved her all her life …’

  ‘I don’t care if you’ve loved her for all eternity!’ William suddenly lost patience. ‘You will not see her again. And you will go back to Kildrummy with me if I have to knock you senseless and tie you across your horse.’ He glared at his son. ‘And to make your decision easier, you may as well know that Lord Fife is taking his wife away from court. A word in his ear was all it took.’

  ‘You told him?’ Donald was white to the lips.

  ‘Of course I didn’t tell him. Do you think I want my son and heir gralloched like a slaughtered stag? He has been told that his presence is not required in the government and that it would be as well if he and his wife returned to Fife for the time being.’

  XIII

  Donald met Eleyne that night in the dark angle of the herb garden wall.

  ‘What is it?’ She put her hand to his cheek; his note had been so abrupt, so urgent she had been unable to ignore it.

  ‘My father knows,’ he blurted out. ‘We must have been seen! He has ordered me back to Kildrummy.’

  Eleyne’s hand dropped to her side; perhaps it was as well. ‘So,’ she said listlessly. ‘And are you going to obey him?’

  He shook his head violently. ‘How could I leave you? But he said … he said you and your husband were leaving.’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘We are. Malcolm has been excluded from the king’s council. I thought it was because they did not trust him, but it seems that it is my fault.’

  ‘If my father knows I love you, your husband will find out,’ Donald said.

  Eleyne stood leaning against the wall. The stone was icy. ‘I don’t care that much for what Malcolm thinks.’ She snapped her fingers in the air. ‘But he is a jealous man, Donald. He would kill you if he thought I returned your love.’ The matter-of-factness in her voice made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. ‘Perhaps it would be better for you to go to Kildrummy and forget me.’ And better for me. The words were unspoken. Before my foolishness leads us both into real danger.

  ‘No.’

  She faced him, scanning his face with serious eyes in the icy starlight: ‘You would risk so much for me?’

  ‘More, much more, my lady. Dragons, monsters of the deep!’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, Donald! And ghosts? Would you brave ghosts?’ The question hovered in the silence.

  ‘And more still! Manticoras; unicorns; the deadly cockatrice!’ Without thinking he pulled her into his arms, his eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, my darling!’

  ‘Wait –’ she tensed – ‘someone is coming.’ She pushed him away.

  Donald listened, ‘No, it’s the wind.’ He caught her hand and drew her to him again. ‘There’s a storm coming. You can hear the trees in the park outside the walls.’

  Was it the wind? Or was it Alexander, watching from the shadows? Eleyne could feel a coldness on her skin, a sense of dread in the air. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

  She relaxed. ‘Dragons fighting perhaps.’

  ‘Or mating in the dark. The roar you hear is their cry of ecstasy.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Don’t go with him tomorrow, please.’

  This time she did not push him away. ‘I have to,’ she whispered, ‘I have to, Donald, or we’ll both be lost!’ She touched his face gently. ‘I have to see my children.’

  ‘But you will come back to court?’

  She caught her breath, frightened by the longing, so like a hunger, which overwhelmed her as he pulled her against him again. ‘Of course I shall come back.’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Soon, I promise.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I must go.’

  Donald frowned. ‘You won’t –’ He paused, unable to summon the words. ‘You won’t let Lord Fife touch you –’ His voice trailed into silence.

  Eleyne touched his lips with her forefinger. ‘He is my husband, Donald,’ she said gently, ‘I cannot prevent him.’

  As she made her way back alone towards the great keep of the castle, its doors and windows alight with candlelight, there were tears in her eyes. She had let it all go too far; she must not see him again. For a wonderful, glorious moment she had begun to see Donald of Mar as her lover, but for his sake, and for hers, that could never be.

  XIV

  FALKLAND CASTLE Christmas 1257

  Rhonwen eyed Malcolm warily; this man had always earned her grudging respect in spite of the violence of his methods and Eleyne seemed content with him. She was prepared to listen to anything he had to say.

  Malcolm smiled to himself as he read correctly what was going on in her mind. He had listened in silence to John Keith’s account of the murder of Robert de Quincy and, like him, had felt a shudder of horror at the thought of a woman capable of such cold-blooded killing. Such a man he would have welcomed amongst his followers; about a woman, whose loyalty was to his wife and not to himself, he was far less sanguine. She had meekly resumed her duties in the nursery, without once, as far as he knew, arousing Eleyne’s suspicion. Was there madness in those eyes, he wondered, behind that cold stare? Once again he shivered.

  ‘You did well in London, Lady Rhonwen,’ he said. ‘My thanks.’

  Rhonwen bowed.

  ‘You would do much I think for my wife,’ he went on thoughtfully.

  ‘I would die for her.’

  ‘Let us hope that will not be necessary,’ Malcolm said grimly. He strolled across to the table. ‘I heard disturbing rumours while she and I were at Dunfermline and I am at a loss as to how to deal with them,’ he went on carefully. He took a letter from the table and held it up, his back still towards her. ‘I wonder whether you can advise me.’

  Rhonwen made no reply and after a moment he went on: ‘It seems that she is being pursued by a young court gallant.’ He turned, his face carefully expressionless. He had thought Donald’s attentions a joke. His informant, anonymous, but seemingly knowledgeable, thought otherwise. ‘The young man is the son of a colleague – a friend – whom I have no wish to upset. However, the boy’s attentions are causing Eleyne much distress. Much distress,’ he repeated with emphasis. ‘That is one of the reasons I insisted that she return here with me, but I fear he may try to follow her here.’

  ‘And pursue her under your roof?’ Rhonwen raised an eyebrow.

  He shrugged elaborately. ‘He has a way with words, I understand.’

  ‘A way my lady can’t resist?’ Rhonwen was incredulous.

  ‘He saps her will to fight.’ Malcolm’s voice grew angry. ‘When she is here, apart from him, she is in despair, begging to be saved from his bewitchment, then she falls back under his spell and asks me to do nothing; to spare him for his youth and foolishness.’ He leaned towards her. ‘She has pleaded with me to save her. I ride back to Stirling this afternoon to rejoin the court. You must come with me and remain behind when I return to Falkland.’ He held her gaze. ‘I think you will know what to do, Lady Rhonwen, now that you have experience in these matters. You do understand me?’

  Rhonwen nodded.

  ‘And you will not speak to my wife of your mission. It would only distress her unnecessarily.’

  Rhonwen’s eyes narrowed. ‘I would not act without knowing what she wanted. I only do what I think is best for her. Ever.’

  Malcolm took a deep breath. ‘I have already told you what she wants, Lady Rhonwen. That is why she is begging for our help. She is enslaved by this young man. That is why I have asked you to assist me. Do you think I would have done so did I not want someone who understands my wife and who loves her unreservedly? I could send anyone to dispose of him. John Keith would do my
bidding without a second thought as you know well. But I would rather it were you.’

  Rhonwen was half flattered, half wary, but he swept on, not giving her time to think. ‘He threatens your lady’s happiness; he threatens her very life, Lady Rhonwen. Don’t fail her.’

  He met her eye and held it and she wondered if he knew. Was he aware of his wife’s secret lover? Did he know that he shared her with a ghost? Was this what he was saying: that Alexander, too, wanted the boy’s death?

  ‘Help me, I beg you,’ he repeated quietly. ‘You would be above suspicion; you would have access to him and he will come to you, knowing you are her friend, hoping to enlist your aid.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You would have the perfect opportunity, Lady Rhonwen. It can be done quickly and quietly, without fuss, in a way which would cause the minimum distress.’

  He knew better than to mention a bribe. If she did it, it would be for love of Eleyne. Her reward, if she were caught, would be his complete disavowal of her and total condemnation of her act – whatever it was.

  XV

  STIRLING CASTLE January 1258

  Rhonwen sought out Donald in the king’s hall as the young man walked towards the door as supper finished.

  ‘A word with you, my lord,’ she murmured.

  He stopped and stared at her, but his expression cleared as he recognised the Welsh woman who had from time to time accompanied Eleyne to court.

  ‘You have a message for me?’ he asked eagerly. They stood aside as a noisy group of court attendants pushed giggling past them.

  ‘You expect a message?’ Rhonwen surveyed him coldly.

  He nodded. ‘She said she would think of me every day, and she has asked the king to call her back to court as soon as possible so that we can be together.’ His eyes were shining.

  ‘You think this is what she wants?’

  He nodded vigorously.

  ‘And what of her husband and children?’ Rhonwen lowered her voice. ‘Does she no longer care for them?’

  Donald was now the sulky boy again. ‘She has never loved her husband, and as for the children, I thought you were supposed to be looking after them.’

  ‘I am.’ Her tone became silky. ‘I look after everyone my lady loves.’

  ‘Oh.’ His face cleared into a radiant smile. ‘I’m glad.’

  He did not add that he was much relieved; her icy manner had begun to unnerve him.

  XVI

  In the chamber she shared with four other ladies, Rhonwen knelt before her coffer and lifted the lid. Taking the small phial from the pocket beneath her gown, she looked at it for a few moments, then tucked it carefully beneath her spare shift. Closing the coffer, she locked it. For the time being she would reserve judgement on Donald of Mar.

  XVII

  When she arrived back at Falkland Rhonwen found Eleyne sitting on the straw in the stables, watching Ancret nursing a litter of puppies.

  ‘So what was so urgent at Stirling you had to ride there without asking my permission?’

  ‘Lord Fife wanted me to carry a message to the Welsh ambassadors,’ Rhonwen said. ‘He needed someone who spoke the language and whom he could trust. He knew you didn’t want to ride back so soon after you had come home.’

  Eleyne nodded absent-mindedly. She reached for one of the pups and cradled it with gentle hands. ‘I trust you gave them my good wishes to pass on to Llywelyn bach.’

  To her sorrow, Eleyne’s four nephews in Wales had given up all attempts at settling their jealousies amicably and Owain and Dafydd had tried to oust Llywelyn from power completely. He, showing the flair for leadership which had been apparent so early in his boyhood, had defeated them easily and they had both been taken captive. Owain was still in prison.

  Eleyne had written to Llywelyn warning him that the brothers had to keep a united front before Henry if they hoped for any credibility at all, and he had written back a letter full of charm and wit, telling her in the nicest possible way to mind her own business, but that what he would really like was the support of the King of Scots. Eleyne had smiled indulgently; in her heart she knew he was right. He was the strongest of the brothers and she was very fond of him; besides, she would always back the alliance of Wales and Scotland. It seemed both countries wanted the same thing.

  But for all that she missed her homeland, Gwynedd was a world away. And for now she was distracted. She could not put Donald out of her mind. What was it about him that she found so attractive? Time and again she tried to analyse her feelings: he wasn’t just a handsome, attentive squire; he was more, far more. There was a depth to him, she decided, a maturity far beyond his years; a sensitivity and an inner strength which she found irresistible. He was so different from Malcolm; so different from Robert. He was everything a woman could want in a man. He did not compare with Alexander; she did not even attempt the comparison. Alexander had been her man; her king; her god. He had been everything to her. But Donald awakened in her a physical longing she could not deny, even though it shocked her that the thought of him could arouse her. She wanted him so badly, she could think of nothing else. She knew she must never see him again. If she did she would not be able to trust herself.

  A passing groom looked at the two women, then, not yet used to his countess’s ways, he stared askance as he recognised who it was who sat with the dogs in the straw.

  ‘I hear there were many attractions at court,’ Rhonwen said cautiously.

  ‘There are always attractions near the king.’

  ‘Young handsome attractions,’ Rhonwen persisted, ‘who write you beautiful poems.’

  Eleyne felt herself colouring and frowned sternly. ‘All the squires write poems. They cluster round the ladies and imagine themselves constantly in love just as they do at King Henry’s court.’

  ‘And refuse to take no for an answer, is it? And pestering the daylights out of you.’

  Eleyne dropped the puppy and climbed to her feet, plainly annoyed.

  ‘All right, if you must know the young man did pester me. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about him, do you hear? I don’t even want his name mentioned!’ She walked swiftly back across the great courtyard.

  Rhonwen stooped and gently picking up the distressed puppy laid it with its brothers and sisters on its mother’s stomach. She frowned down at the dogs thoughtfully. For Eleyne to throw down that pup was so out of character as to betray her distress. But why was she so distressed? Did she really hate and fear the Master of Mar so much?

  XVIII

  ‘There will be no knighthood!’ William of Mar confronted his son, his hand on his hips. ‘That is where this woman has got you. You are not fit to be knighted! the king has refused to convey the accolade.’

  He turned away from Donald, his face working furiously. ‘That this should happen to us! I can’t believe it. The disgrace! The humiliation! That you of all people, who claim to serve the cause of chivalry before all others –’ He spluttered to a stop, speechless with fury. ‘I was so sure you would be granted it, young though you are. The king had agreed! It was all arranged! And now the king says he is not prepared to knight you, ever. And if he will not, neither will anyone else! Of course the queen mother is behind this,’ he went on after a moment. ‘We all know how much she hates Eleyne of Fife. Alexander is too fond of you – and fond of Lady Fife – to think of this by himself.’

  Exhausted by his anger, he slumped into the chair at the head of the table, and for the first time looked at his son. Donald was standing quite still, his face chalk-white, his fists clenched. To his horror, his father suspected that the young man was near to tears.

  ‘No knighthood?’ It was a whisper. ‘Ever?’

  ‘No knighthood,’ William repeated with merciless emphasis, and leaning forward he smashed his fist on the table.

  XIX

  It would have to be the poison. Rhonwen considered the small phial on the table in front of her. Monkshood worked fast and with no possibility of error. Today, whilst Eleyne was preoccupi
ed with the pups and with Colban, who was fretful with a heavy head cold. She could ride to Stirling and be back before dawn; be back before they had even found the young man’s body.

  She told no one where she was going. John Keith called for a fast horse for her. He asked no questions and he watched her go with something like admiration in his eyes. If anyone asked, he would swear he had not seen her for three days.

  She left the sweating horse in the stables and made her way into the castle, her hood pulled down over her face. Donald of Mar would guess who it was who had put the poison in his wine, but he would not tell anyone. Ever.

  Swiftly she threaded her way across the great hall, where the servants were putting out the trestle tables for supper. She could see the vast ornate silver-gilt salt on the white linen cloth of the high table, the goblets, the baskets of bread. Two young men had hauled a huge log to the fire and levered it on to the dogs in the hearth. She would find a place at one of the lower tables. Later, much later, when the wine was flowing and the great hall was thick with the aroma of food and sweat and smoke from the fire, she could easily make her way to the high table, goblet in hand. On pretext of whispering a lover’s message, she would give him the poisoned wine.

  No one noticed the woman in the dark green woollen cloak who sat at one of the lower tables. She ate little and spoke not at all as the hall filled around her. Her eyes were fixed on the high table. She watched the young king and queen take their places with Marie de Couci and her husband and Lord Menteith, and next to him Alan Durward and his wife. She frowned. Margaret Durward was an openly acknowledged bastard daughter of King Alexander II, conceived long before he had met and loved Eleyne, but nevertheless of his blood. Her eye moved on down the table. There was no sign of the Earl and Countess of Mar and no sign of their son.

  It was some time before she found someone who knew.