‘He looks at me with guilt.’ Isabella could feel the tears coming as the pain built once more.
‘No, no, I won’t believe it.’ Eleyne laid her hand on the linen sheet which covered the contorted muscles of her daughter’s belly. She felt every pain as if it were in her own body. ‘He loves you, and if it’s humanly possible he will come.’
‘Can’t you see? Can’t you see in the fire?’ Isabella’s voice rose unsteadily. ‘Look, mama. Please. See where he is.’
Nearby the two midwives, sitting side by side telling their beads, looked at each other and one crossed herself.
In the hearth the fire burned in spite of the heat of the day. One of the maids sprinkled dried rose petals and coriander on it every so often, using a small wooden scoop, and the room was full of aromatic, spicy scent. Reluctantly Eleyne walked across to it, feeling the heat on her face. Beneath her veil, the perspiration started out on the back of her neck. On the bed Isabella groaned again.
Eleyne pursed her lips and stared into the depth of the flames, feeling the heat against her eyes, willing the picture to come – the picture that would tell her beyond all doubt that Isabella would be safe and that the child would be a son, but there was nothing there. Nothing but the red heart of the burning wood. And then she saw it: a shadow in the heat, no more. She leaned forward – a standard. Surely it was a standard. A flag flying in the wind, a flag of red and gold – the standard of the king.
‘My lady – ’
Only the hand on her elbow had saved her from toppling into the fire. Shaken, she saw the maid standing beside her, holding her arm, watching her with frightened eyes. ‘I thought you were going to fall, my lady.’ The woman dropped her hand apologetically.
‘Thank you.’ Eleyne collected herself with difficulty. ‘I was dizzy for a moment with the heat. How is she?’ She turned back to the high bed.
‘She’s coming on nicely.’ One of the midwives smiled. ‘I reckon it will be here with the dawn.’
It was Robert who arrived with the dawn, throwing himself, exhausted, from his horse, taking the stairs to the bedchamber two at a time. He was allowed only a moment to touch his wife’s hand and kiss her forehead before he was ushered from the room. Childbirth was women’s work. There was no room here for a man, save perhaps a priest. The midwives scanned Isabella with practised eyes. She was strong, but tired already and old for a first child. The baby was positioned wrong; it should have been here long since. Shaking their heads, they bent over the bed again.
The sight of her husband and the touch of his hand had done more for Isabella than all the charms and potions with which the two women had been plying her for the last two days. She reached for Eleyne’s hand. ‘He came.’
Eleyne nodded. ‘He came.’
The child was born four hours later. It was a girl.
‘No.’ Eleyne shook her head as the small scrap of humanity was held out to her, wrapped in a bloodstained sheet. ‘No. It is not possible. He was to be a boy.’
‘Well, if he’s a boy, he’s got some precious baubles missing, my lady.’ One of the midwives took the baby, chuckling, and began to wash and wrap her. ‘This bairn will be no prince.’ Everyone in the castle knew of Eleyne’s prediction.
‘No.’ Eleyne shook her head disbelievingly. She walked towards the bed and took Isabella’s hand, but her daughter had drifted already into an exhausted sleep.
‘You must tell Lord Carrick, my lady.’ The woman smiled spitefully. ‘He too expected a son.’
VI
Robert was asleep, his head on the table beside an overturned goblet. For a moment she stood looking down at him, not wanting to wake him, aware of the whispers in the body of the hall, full of compassion for the young man’s disappointment.
As if sensing her standing over him, he raised his head and with the instincts of a soldier was instantly awake. She took a deep breath.
‘You have a daughter.’
If there was dismay in his face, it was veiled as soon as it appeared. ‘Isabella? Is she all right?’
Eleyne nodded with a rush of warmth for her son-in-law. He cared for Isabella. Of course he cared. Isabella was wrong. ‘She’ll be all right; she’s exhausted now. Go up and see her later.’ They both understood there was no need to rush upstairs to view the baby – a daughter could wait.
‘I’m sorry.’ She lowered her head, defeated. ‘I got it wrong. I was so sure this child was to be the progenitor of kings.’
Robert grinned. ‘I’m the one who intends to be the progenitor of kings.’ He lurched wearily to his feet. ‘Don’t blame yourself. I’m content to wait for destiny. There will be other children.’
‘I hope so,’ she said sadly.
He frowned. ‘There’s something wrong – ’
‘No! No.’ The wave of terrible unhappiness had gone as soon as it had come. ‘No, I’m very tired, that’s all. Forgive me, Robert, if I go and rest. I’m too old to stay up all night.’ She smiled at him. ‘Isabella is all right. And so is the baby. What shall you call her?’
‘Marjorie. After my mother.’
‘God bless you, my dear.’ She put her hand up to his cheek for a moment, then turned to climb wearily to her bedchamber.
VII
The next evening Robert and Eleyne dined alone at the high table. Father Gillespie had been called away, the officers of the household were visiting the manors of the Garioch, Eleyne’s ladies were down the far end of the table and Mary and Kirsty were both with Isabella. For the first time it was possible to talk in private.
‘Do you have news of what is happening in the south?’ She had been wanting all day to talk of the war and Donald.
Robert nodded as he raised his wine to his lips. ‘Gratney is with King Edward and has put in a plea for Donald’s release. All the high-ranking captives are being sent south. To Chester or to the Tower.’ He saw her flinch at the words. ‘Don’t be afraid, he’ll be all right. They’re being treated well. My concern is what Edward means to do with Scotland now that our noble King John has abdicated like a craven fool.’ His voice was full of contempt for the man who after his defeat had been captured and forced to surrender his crown.
‘You, like me, suspect the worst of our interfering neighbour.’ Eleyne leaned forward, her elbows on the table. ‘When are you going to act, Robert? The country is waiting for your lead.’
The year before, on Maundy Thursday, 31 March, her old friend and nephew Robert Bruce of Annandale had died, defiant and cantankerous to the last. His loss had been a terrible blow to Eleyne, as it had to all the supporters of the Bruces.
Robert demurred. ‘What can I do? My father has no stomach for battle, and he is still the heir to our claims to the throne, not I. However much grandfather wanted it, he couldn’t replace papa in the succession, and I’m afraid I’ll have to play a waiting game. I will not support John Balliol or the Comyns while I wait, which means in a world that is black and white that I must be seen to support Edward. For now.’ He grinned at her. ‘You and I know better.’
‘Be careful.’ She smiled, responding as always to the young man’s charm. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’
‘I know.’ He reached for the wine and refilled her goblet. ‘My grandfather would have loved this, and I am like him. I play for high stakes, but I play to win. It may take time, but I intend to take the prize.’
‘I believe you.’ She hesitated, then she turned to face him again. ‘Tell me, Robert, while we confide in each other over our cups. Are you unfaithful to my daughter?’ Having sprung the question, she studied his profile, aware of the sudden tenseness.
There was a silence which lasted just too long. ‘I love my wife. And I am faithful to her as is my duty as a husband and a knight.’
‘And if you were not a husband and a knight? What then?’
‘Then nothing. The other lady is also married.’
‘I see.’ Eleyne poked idly at the food on the manchet of bread before her with her small bone-handled k
nife. She swallowed her anger and disappointment in him. ‘Thank you for being open with me. Have you lost your heart to this other lady?’
‘No.’ He put down his goblet, shaking his head. ‘No, I know it’s madness. She is trouble. Trouble for everyone near her. It’s when I’m near her …’ The sentence remained unfinished.
‘And she reciprocates your feelings, does she? This troublesome lady?’ Eleyne persisted sternly.
He nodded.
‘But you would never betray Isabella.’ It was a command rather than a question.
He shook his head. ‘I love Isabella. I would never do anything to hurt her, never.’ Suddenly he frowned. ‘It wasn’t Isabella who told you this?’
‘However much you think you’ve kept your feelings hidden, your servants have noticed. Did you expect them to keep your secret?’ Her voice was harsh.
Robert closed his eyes wearily. ‘I suppose I did expect them to keep it a secret as there was nothing to tell.’ He sounded disillusioned. ‘I’m sorry. I would not have had that happen for the world. The last thing I wanted was to upset Isabella. You must believe me. Did she tell you who the lady is?’
‘No, I don’t know who she is, and I don’t want to. And I don’t think Isabella knows,’ Eleyne said more gently. ‘If she suspects she did not tell me.’
He looked relieved. ‘I shall make it up to her … and I shall see that the lady and I are not alone together again.’
Eleyne raised an austere eyebrow. ‘Please do,’ she said.
VIII
He left Kildrummy a week later. Neither she nor Robert had referred to their conversation again, but Eleyne detected from his demonstrative affection for his wife that she had pricked his conscience. She kissed him farewell fondly; and watched as he kissed Isabella, then little Marjorie, who was already showing signs of having inherited her paternal grandmother’s flaming hair and her temper.
Kirsty watched her brother leave, then turned to her mother-in-law and took her hands.
‘What is it, mama? What’s wrong?’
‘Why should anything be wrong, child?’
‘I don’t know, I just feel it.’ Kirsty shrugged. ‘Something to do with Robert.’
Eleyne looked dejected. ‘I let him down. I told him he would have a son. All my predictions – everything – pointed to this child being the ancestor of kings …’ Her voice died away. ‘My powers have never been strong. Now I believe they have left me altogether.’ She tightened her mouth angrily. ‘I see nothing, Kirsty. I cannot see your father or Sandy, however hard I try. I can see nothing for Scotland but blood.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m too old. I’ve lived too long.’
‘That’s not true, mama.’ Gently Kirsty took her hand. ‘I want you to do something for me. I want you to ride with me to the Garioch. I have a plan, which I want to discuss with you.’
‘I should stay with Isabella – ’
‘There’s no need. She’ll spare you for a couple of days.’ Kirsty looked at her shrewdly. ‘You need a ride as much as I do. It’s stifling here, and we are all brooding too much. A canter on the hills and a ride around Bennachie and up to Drumdurno will do us both good.’
IX
The horses stood panting, their heads hanging low as the two women gazed around. The low hills stretched into the distance behind them, a wilderness of heath and moor and bog, with small areas of woodland and scattered birch. In front the great fang of Bennachie rose up against a sky as clear and blue as amethyst. Kirsty had reined in at an ancient circle of stones near the track. Sliding from her horse, she came to Eleyne’s side as the groom helped her down and she led her into the centre of the stone ring.
‘This is a very special place,’ she said quietly, glancing up. The sky was empty.
‘It belongs to the old gods.’ Eleyne smiled. The air was strangely still; there were no birds; no sound broke the intense silence. Even the grooms, waiting a few hundred yards away, made no sound in the heat of the afternoon. ‘Why have you brought me here?’
‘I wanted you to approve. I’ve decided to build a chapel here, dedicated to Our Lady. I have so many prayers; so many petitions …’ She stopped, half embarrassed. ‘I vowed a chapel to her if she would hear me and one day, when I am old, I shall be buried here.’ She walked to one of the great recumbent stones and touched it reverently. ‘Do you think I’ve done right?’
Eleyne didn’t answer. She was staring into the distance. The air was full of the scent of grass and flowers, the resinous odour of pine and juniper, the clear cold overtones from the mountain a hint only beneath the heat. Around Kirsty the heat reflecting from the stone on which she had laid her hand made the air quiver. She looked insubstantial, almost ghostly, a wraith from the past; a ghost from the future. Eleyne shivered, then she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I approve.’
The weather grew even hotter; the haze on the hills as they turned for home was heavy with brooding thunderheads. The horses were lethargic and they were walking slowly when the party was met by James Leslie, one of Gratney’s squires, galloping as fast as he could, his horse lathered, gobbets of foam flying from the animal’s bit.
‘My lady, thank God!’ The man reined to a rearing halt. ‘The king is on his way to Kildrummy! Lord Gratney has arrived there, and he sent me to fetch you.’ He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his forearm.
‘I thought the king had been taken prisoner.’
‘Not King John, my lady.’ The man was almost gibbering with anxiety. ‘King Edward of England.’
‘Edward?’ An icy shiver tiptoed up Eleyne’s spine, for all the heat of the day.
James nodded, still gulping for breath. ‘He’s making a progress around Scotland, visiting the greatest castles, taking oaths of fealty from everyone.’
Eleyne stiffened. ‘Taking oaths for Scottish lands?’
James nodded. ‘Last night he was at Elgin. He’s coming by way of Inverharroch and will go to the monks at Cabrach. My lady, he expects you at Kildrummy to greet him.’
Eleyne scowled. ‘Where is Lord Mar? Is he with the king?’
‘He has been sent south, with the other prisoners, my lady.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Then there are things I wish to say to my cousin of England.’ She kicked her horse on. ‘And as soon as possible. If he chooses to wait on me at Kildrummy, so much the better.’
She rode the last few miles in grim silence, only half aware of the apprehension of the men and women who rode with her.
At Kildrummy there was as yet no sign of the King of England or his outriders. Eleyne handed her horse to a groom and made her way towards her bedchamber. There would be time for a cool wash in scented water, fresh clothes and an interview with her eldest son before she had to nerve herself to meet Edward.
X
12 August 1296
It was twilight before he arrived and already clear that he intended to spend at least one night at Kildrummy, with the attendant colossal expense to the Mars of feeding hundreds of extra men and horses. Calmly Eleyne and Kirsty gave orders for the preparations to be made, and they were in the great hall, seated on the dais, when Edward at last appeared. Eleyne rose, giving only the slightest curtsey in greeting, the stiffness of old age exaggerated as she moved.
Edward, at fifty-seven, was a tall, energetic, wiry man with sharp all-seeing eyes and a grim set to his mouth. Wearing full armour beneath his embroidered surcoat, with a golden circlet on his head, he radiated power as he walked towards the dais. ‘Lady Mar,’ he acknowledged with brisk formality, ‘I have come to demand your allegiance and the keys of Kildrummy.’
‘Indeed.’ Eleyne met her cousin’s eye haughtily. ‘The keys are my husband’s to give or withhold as he sees fit.’
‘Your husband has taken the oath of fealty, madam.’ Edward’s eyes had hardened. ‘An oath which every man and woman and child in Scotland will take before I have finished.’
‘If he has taken the oath, why has he not come home?’ Eleyne asked with deceptive mildness. br />
‘Because I am not yet entirely convinced of his wholehearted loyalty. Because every man who stood against me at Dunbar will have to convince me of his loyalty before I release him.’
Eleyne turned and walked deliberately away from him. She stopped, her back still turned. ‘I shall take no oath until my husband is returned to me,’ she said. ‘I have promised to obey him and he has given me no orders to swear allegiance to an enemy of this country.’
‘An enemy, madam?’ Edward’s voice was icy. ‘I am overlord of all Scotland, a country at present without a king and without any government save mine. I have removed to England all the emblems of government: the Scottish regalia – all that wasn’t hidden – the crown jewels, the plate, the relics, the Black Rood of St Margaret and –’ he paused and glared around the hall triumphantly – ‘after I burned the palace and the abbey of Scone I took your precious Stone of Destiny.’ He acknowledged the gasp of horror with a half-smile. ‘It’s on its way to the abbey at Westminster at this very moment and there it will stay – forever. I am the government of this country now and my son will be the next monarch crowned on your coronation stone. Face me, madam, when I am addressing you!’ His voice was a whiplash.
Eleyne turned, hiding her horror as best she could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shaken she was by his sacrilege. Giving him a long disdainful look, she was aware that the great hall was crowded with the men and women of the household and beyond them, in grim, serried ranks, Edward’s men-at-arms. The eyes of all were on her as she spoke.
‘You will not destroy Scotland’s independence by stealing the things she holds most sacred,’ she said confidently. Her face was drawn and tight with anger. ‘Nor will you win the allegiance of her people that way. As for me, I owe you no allegiance, Edward of England. Your father declared me dead! He took my land, my inheritance, my name, even my children! I owe you nothing!’