Child of the Phoenix (152 page)

‘Lady Mar! I’m sorry, I thought perhaps the Lady Eleyne was ill. She was shouting – ’

Kirsty waved him aside. Pulling open the heavy door, she went in and to his intense disappointment closed it behind her.

‘Mama?’

Her mother-in-law was staring down at the fire, tears coursing down her cheeks. She didn’t seem to hear.

‘Mama, are you all right?’ The room seemed very cold. Kirsty went to put her hand, almost timidly, on Eleyne’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry about Morna.’

Eleyne sighed. She groped for her handkerchief and shook her head. ‘I’m being foolish, Kirsty. For a moment I felt I couldn’t take any more.’ She blew her nose firmly and managed a watery smile. ‘But of course, one does. I’m sorry, my dear, it’s old age. It gets harder to hide the pain. I must pull myself together and arrange – ’ Her voice broke for a moment and she had to fight to continue. ‘I have to arrange for something to be done with her body.’

‘There is no need. It was Ewan the miller who found her. He cut her down and the villagers have taken care of her. They loved her too, mama. She did so much for them.’

‘She wanted to be buried on the brae below the sacred spring – we discussed it once.’

It had been the October before when Edward of England had appeared once more at Kildrummy, checking on the building works, letting it be known once more that he was Scotland’s overlord. Eleyne, forewarned, and vowing that never again would she bow the knee to Edward, had slipped down the glen to Morna and stayed there alone in the bothy by the gently flowing river until her cousin had gone. The two women had talked then, long into the summer nights.

‘She wanted no Christian burial. They won’t know what to do – ’

‘They know what she wanted, mama. They’re burying her exactly where she wished, and I have already ordered flowers for her grave.’ The two women were silent, each lost in her own thoughts. Then at last Kirsty looked up. ‘I only hope I can be as brave as you when it’s needed,’ she said. ‘May I tell you a secret to cheer you up? Even Gratney doesn’t know yet.’ She took Eleyne’s hand and led her carefully to her chair. When she was seated, Kirsty knelt at her feet. ‘Mama, I’m going to have a baby. I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it when Robert took Marjorie away to live with him and his new wife, I was so lonely, but after all these years of hoping and praying, after all the offerings I have made at my chapel, it has happened.’

Eleyne gazed at her incredulously, then she smiled. ‘So. An heir for the earldom at last. Oh, Kirsty, I’m so pleased, my dear.’

‘If it’s a boy, I shall call him Donald and if it’s a girl I shall call her Eleyne.’ Kirsty smiled, pleased to see the unhappiness leave her mother-in-law’s face.

‘And your husband gets no say in the matter?’ Eleyne asked, half scolding.

‘None at all!’ Kirsty laughed. ‘Mama, things will get better, I know they will. You mustn’t despair. Poor Morna never recovered after Mairi died. You must allow her her choice to be with her daughter. That’s what you believe, don’t you? You don’t believe either of them has gone to hell.’

‘Not if there is any justice in the firmament. If the hell the church speaks of exists, it must be reserved for the truly evil.’ Eleyne stared down at the fire again, lost in thought. ‘Morna said it was like going through a door,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s what she’s done. She has stepped through a door.’

‘I have more good news, mama,’ Kirsty went on. ‘Robert and Nigel are coming to Kildrummy.’ She fell silent, thinking about her two eldest brothers. ‘While father was still alive, Robert felt he couldn’t act. He was hamstrung because papa did not want the throne. But when papa died in April Robert made one or two decisions about the future.’

‘Did he indeed,’ Eleyne said ironically, ‘and about time.’

‘I know he seems to be at King Edward’s beck and call again.’ Kirsty’s voice took on a defensive tone. ‘But he couldn’t afford to show his hand too soon, and there are still obstacles. John Balliol and Sir William Wallace, for instance …’

‘And his new wife, the daughter of one of Edward’s supporters.’ Eleyne could not keep the tartness out of her voice. ‘I shall have a few things to say to your brother when he arrives, not least about the high-handed way he took Marjorie away from you when he married that woman!’

If Kirsty’s intentions had been to distract Eleyne from her sadness with the news of Robert’s imminent arrival, it worked and when he reached Kildrummy with his brother Nigel, she was waiting for him.

‘So. Just what game are you playing now, Robert?’ she asked tartly. They were alone in her solar on her instructions.

He grinned. ‘A waiting game.’

‘And just how long do you intend to wait?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘And meanwhile you fight for Edward?’ She was tight with indignation.

‘In the meantime, I stir the pot.’ He smiled. ‘Now, are you too angry with me to do me a favour?’

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘So, your visit is not a social one?’

‘Of course it’s social.’ He grinned again. ‘I came to see my sister – the beautiful and
enceinte
Countess of Mar. I came to see my most favourite mother-in-law,’ he paused, ‘and I should like to see her great-grand-daughter.’

‘You know that’s impossible!’ Eleyne’s hand whitened on the handle of her walking stick. ‘Lord Buchan took Isobel to France with him when her so-called penance was done after Mairi died. You know very well he is one of the Scots envoys at the French king’s court.’

‘And I know it was your idea that he take Isobel; and I know it was you who persuaded him to release her. I know how much you love her.’ Robert took Eleyne’s hand. ‘And now he too has made a temporary and expedient peace with King Edward and they are back at Slains.’ He walked towards the window and then swung back towards her restlessly. ‘I need to know what the King of France’s views are on our situation in Scotland.’

‘And you want Isobel to tell you?’ Eleyne raised an eyebrow sharply. She held Robert’s gaze challengingly. ‘Do you remember once you told me that Isobel was trouble, Robert,’ she said softly. ‘Is that still true?’

He looked down uncomfortably. ‘So, you know. I’m glad.’ He paused. ‘I wrote to her while she was in France. She has information I need and I can hardly ask Buchan himself. May I send one of my most trusted men to fetch her? No one would question an invitation to Kildrummy to visit you. She would be in no danger.’

‘And I would be condoning anything that happened between you,’ Eleyne said thoughtfully.

‘Nothing will happen, I promise.’ He smiled. ‘Or nothing that you need know about!’

II

Robert’s henchman, Gilbert of Annandale, brought Isobel of Buchan to Kildrummy three days later.

Isobel stood in the doorway of her great-grandmother’s solar and the two looked at each other for several seconds. Isobel was very thin, but she looked far better than when Eleyne had previously seen her and her face, lightly tanned from the sea voyage from France and the ride through the mountains to Mar, glowed with happiness. She was undeniably very beautiful. Eleyne sighed. How could she blame Robert – or indeed any man – for loving such a woman? She held out her arms. Together they sat in the window embrasure, where they could be sure of privacy.

‘It’s been so long, child! Come, tell me about France,’ Eleyne said, ‘and then, if you wish, tell me about the rest.’

Isobel talked for a long time. At first she spoke in short stilted sentences about her time in France at the court of King Philippe. Then she spoke of the endless weeks at Dundarg Castle in the far north of Buchan, where her husband had sent her to repent of her long list of sins. Finally she spoke of Mairi and at last the tears came. ‘It was because of me she died. He wanted to punish me.’

‘To punish you for losing your baby?’ Eleyne prompted. She put her hands on Isobel’s veil as the girl sat at her feet, her head in Eleyne’s lap.

Isobel shook her head wordlessly, choked with sobs, then at last she looked up, her eyes bright with tears. ‘That was the excuse they used, that she helped me get rid of the baby.’ Her voice was harsh. ‘Even though it was
his
fault it happened. He hit me and I fell … No, he did it because I was seen.’ Two tears hung on her eyelashes, then dropped and ran down her face. ‘I was seen with Robert.’ Her whisper was so faint Eleyne had to bend her head to hear at all.

‘Seen?’ Eleyne queried.

‘At Scone. We met in the monk’s garden among the ruins of the burned abbey and – someone saw us … making love.’ Isobel’s broken murmur was almost inaudible.

‘My poor child – ’

‘I love him so much,’ Isobel whispered. ‘I would die for him.’

‘We may all have to die for him one day, when he is our king,’ Eleyne said slowly. ‘But, Isobel, child, not for that … not because he has made you betray your marriage vows.’

‘Yes. For that.’ Eleyne saw the passion she remembered from their last meeting blazing in the girl’s eyes again. She sighed, then in spite of herself she smiled. She kissed Isobel’s forehead. ‘Take care, my darling, won’t you,’ she said.

Isobel bit her lip, then she scrambled to her feet. ‘You must be tired, great-grandmama. Shall I leave you a while to rest?’ The girl was so eager to see him, it was cruel to keep her here.

‘I think that would be nice, my child. I shall see you in the great hall later.’ Eleyne tried to quell the feeling of unease that filled her, but there was no putting it off. Isobel’s fate, like that of all of them, was already written in the flames. ‘There is someone else here, I believe, who would like to talk to you about France.’ She looked grave and raised her gnarled fingers to Isobel’s cheek. ‘Take care, my darling. Remember your husband.’ As Isobel bent to kiss her, she saw the colour flooding into the girl’s face.

She walked slowly to the fireside as soon as Isobel had gone and stood looking down into the flames. In spite of the heat of the long summer outside, she kept the fire burning constantly now. She frowned, screwing up her eyes, but there were no pictures there. Nothing but empty heat.

III
August 1305

Duncan looked from his brother to his mother and back with a despairing shrug. ‘I pray no one else falls into King Edward’s hands. The man doesn’t know the meaning of mercy.’ He had just read out a letter they had received from London.

It gave the news that Eleyne’s great-nephew Owain, Dafydd’s son, still a prisoner after so many years in Bristol Castle, had been dragged from his cell in one of the towers and thrown into a cage. There the king had determined to keep him, like an animal, for the rest of his days.

‘A cage? Sweet Lady! Why?’ Eleyne closed her eyes, picturing the bars, the horror, the despair of the poor, lonely young man.

‘My guess is he wants to frighten anyone who might think of opposing him. He is a vindictive, vicious man,’ Duncan replied. ‘There’s another letter, mama, and I’m afraid it’s worse.’

Sir William Wallace had been captured at last. He had been taken to London in chains, dragged through the streets and hanged. His body had been quartered. His head had been put on London Bridge and his four quarters were being set up at Newcastle, Berwick, Stirling and Perth, as a salutary example to the Scots.

Eleyne was aware that everyone in the room was silently making the sign of the cross. ‘Poor Sir William,’ she said softly. ‘May God rest his soul.’

She glanced at Gratney sitting at the table, a goblet of mulled wine in his hand. He was shivering and feverish, having caught a bad cold while visiting Kirsty’s chapel of the Garioch the week before. ‘So, do you still admire Edward? Would you tell your sons to follow him?’ Little Donald had been born three months earlier and flourished noisily to his grandmother’s delight, and Kirsty, as though to prove her newfound fertility, was already pregnant again.

Gratney shook his head. ‘Mama, I’ve told you, Edward is a good king. He’s strong, he’s a brilliant tactician. That doesn’t mean I condone what he has done.’ His voice was hoarse and he reached for the flagon near him for more wine.

‘There is yet more news, mama,’ Duncan interrupted. ‘Lord Buchan and Isobel were in London when Wallace was tried and executed. Lord Buchan is to be one of the Scots lords supposed to represent us in the new English parliament. I understand his wife did not care for London, and has retired to their manor at Whitwick in Leicestershire for the summer.’

Eleyne nodded, satisfied. Isobel would be out of harm’s way in England. She wondered if the girl had seen her brother while she was in London. Duncan of Fife still lived in England; still served the English king. She shook her head sadly. How could her sons and grandsons be so blind? Why did they not understand the danger? She stood up. ‘I shall go and rest and pray for Sir William’s soul.’ She put her hand on Gratney’s shoulder. ‘Take care of that cough, my son, or I shall have to dose you with one of my concoctions.’ She bent and kissed the top of his head.

Gratney reached for her hand affectionately. ‘Not that, please, mama!’ He smiled. ‘A fate worse than death, one of your nasty medicines!’

* * *

The cough grew worse. Four days later it had descended to his lungs, and three days after that, in spite of his mother’s medicines and the distraught family’s anguished prayers, Gratney, Earl of Mar, died. He was thirty-eight years old. His son and heir was a baby, his daughter not yet born.