Child of the Phoenix (44 page)

Rhonwen was downstairs in the great hall listening with most of the household to a travelling harper who had ridden into the city the night before. ‘Rhonwen is not evil, mama. She loves me. She would do nothing to harm me,’ she said gently.

‘No? Perhaps not. But she would not hesitate to harm anyone else who crossed her path. Or yours.’ She gave a little half-smile. ‘It was she who told you to betray William and me to your father, wasn’t it?’ It was the first time she had ever made any reference to that night.

Eleyne bit her lip. ‘Mama, it was so long ago. It’s all forgotten now.’

‘Forgotten!’ Joan’s eyes blazed. ‘No, it’s not forgotten! I loved him, you know, though not the way I love your father.’ She subsided back on to the pillows and took Eleyne’s hand almost pleadingly. ‘It was something strange and new and forbidden. It was an excitement in a world where I had come to accept the fact that I was growing old. I was used to the flattery of courtiers, but William was different. He made me feel alive.’ She closed her eyes and Eleyne felt her fingers growing slack. ‘You were jealous, weren’t you, child? You didn’t want your old mother taking his attention from you and that monstrous horse. You didn’t understand. I wouldn’t have betrayed your father for the world. I loved him so much, but …’ Her words trailed to a stop.

In spite of herself, Eleyne saw again the picture of her mother and William naked on the bed. She trembled. But at the same time she had begun to understand. She groped for the right words. ‘You loved father, but he never gave you pleasure,’ she murmured.

Joan’s eyes flew open, and she studied Eleyne’s face. ‘You do understand,’ she said at last.

Eleyne nodded. ‘I think so.’ She smiled sadly.

‘So.’ Joan caught her hand again and squeezed it. ‘Is it the same for you? But your husband is kind? Llywelyn was always kind. And it is not as though you have ever loved anyone else.’

Eleyne shook her head violently. ‘I would never, never betray my husband.’ It sounded sanctimonious and she was immediately sorry she had said it. She had not meant it that way; she had been thinking about herself.

Joan gave a bitter laugh. ‘That is so easy to say. Perhaps you have not had the opportunity. Try to put yourself in my place. What would you have done if your lover had beckoned you one night and kissed you in the shadows beneath the moon? What if he beguiled you away from everyone else on a ride and you found yourself alone with him on a mossy bank covered in dog roses and violets?’ She began to sob.

‘Mama!’ Eleyne leaned forward and kissed her forehead. ‘Mama, don’t cry.’

IX
September 1235

She had not wanted to return to Scotland so soon. She had not wanted to return to Chester. Her mother’s illness and her father’s worry frightened her. She wanted to wait until her sisters were there. She wanted them all to be together, but Llywelyn was adamant.

‘It is your duty, child, you must convey our messages. Your mother will have the other children. It is not as though she is going to die.’

Eleyne scanned his face, trying to see the truth. What she saw was his blind determination that what he said was the truth. And with that she had to be content.

She rode fast to Chester and spent three days with John, then she was on the road again, riding north with a small escort of chosen knights and just two ladies, Rhonwen and Luned. Ostensibly she was answering an urgent summons from her Aunt Joanna to come to her sickbed at Kinghorn. In reality she carried two letters sewn inside the bodice of her gown, one from her husband and one from her father.

Free of the burdensome escort of the huge household which had accompanied them on their last trip, Eleyne set a fast pace, feeling the power of the great stallion beneath her as they rode the long road north. The nearer they got to Scotland the more nervous she became. The thought of seeing Alexander obsessed her. She wanted to be near him; she longed to see his face, to hear his voice, but at the same time she was bitterly ashamed of the longing and consumed with guilt. Why did she feel this way? She loved her husband. John was kind and understanding and handsome; what more could she want? It was so much more than many women had. The king had never really noticed her in any special way; he teased her, he was off-handedly affectionate – she was after all his niece and the wife of his heir. Each time her thoughts reached this point she would try to blank them off. Every thought was mortal sin. Her soul was damned and yet she could not stop her dreams.

As they forded the glittering silver sands of the Solway and struck north through the forest of Ettrick and Teviotdale the weather worsened markedly. The wind rose, the clouds settled on the hills and the rain drove across the tracks soaking horses and riders alike. Huddled in her cloak on the wet, cold saddle, Eleyne shivered, her teeth chattering.

The Forth was rough, the wind whipping the water into sharp, white-topped waves as they embarked on the ferry at Dalmeny and set out from the shelter of the land, leaving the horses behind. The far shore was invisible in the murk. Chilled and uncomfortable in her wet clothes, Eleyne refused the shelter of the rough, open cabin and settled in the lee of its walls, staring out into the gloom. The sailors had raised an old patched sail to aid the oarsmen and the boat lurched forward alarmingly, creaming through the water, its rigging creaking and flapping as the steersman, his eyes narrowed, tried to edge downstream before the wind.

‘I’ll be glad when we’re there.’ Rhonwen, her eyes streaming from the cold, sat down beside her and pulled her hood forward over her face. ‘It’s only a short ride to the king’s manor at Kinghorn, the ferry-man assured me.’ She shuddered as the vessel shipped a shower of cold spray.

Eleyne rested her head in her arms, thinking yet again about the king. Her stomach was taut with anticipation.

‘What is it,
cariad
, are you sick?’ The solicitous voice would not allow her even that much privacy. Irritated, Eleyne shook her head. ‘I’m tired, Rhonwen, that’s all. Please, let me rest.’ She gasped as another douche of cold water cascaded over them. The bottom boards of the boat were running with water; her gown was soaked, her feet like blocks of ice.

Horses were waiting on the shore to take them along the well-beaten track which followed the coast to the east. After a while it plunged into the woods, sometimes staying down near the shore, sometimes climbing to the top of the low cliffs, but always following the curve of the coast, every now and then affording a view of the wind-lashed waters of the Forth.

The king’s royal manor lay near the port of Kinghorn at the foot of the low red cliffs, and Joanna was waiting for her visitor in the queen’s bower attended by her senior lady-in-waiting, Auda de Boellis and her valet, Hugh de Gurley. She greeted Eleyne with open arms: ‘See how ill I look! We must let the rumours fly around the kingdom that you visit me out of compassion and are summoned to my deathbed. Isn’t that the story we have concocted?’

Eleyne laughed, unable to resist the queen’s infectious good humour. The king was not there. The whole atmosphere at the manor told her that; the stables were half empty and it was the queen’s standard, not the king’s, which flew from the watchtower at the gate. Half disappointed, half relieved, she hugged her aunt in return. ‘You look so much better than when I last saw you, aunt.’

‘I am.’ Joanna caught her arm and pulled her towards the fire as her attendants withdrew. ‘I have my own news! I think I am with child again!’ Her excitement was vivid.

Eleyne stared at her in amazement, the king forgotten, John’s face suddenly before her. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Not sure, not yet. But more than a month has passed and I haven’t bled. Oh, Eleyne, dear Eleyne! I am sure my prayers are answered!’

‘The king must be pleased.’ Eleyne clenched her fists. Where was he?

‘I haven’t told him yet.’ Joanna’s face lost a little of its animation. ‘I haven’t dared. I have to be sure.’ She sank heavily into a chair. ‘If I am wrong he would be so disappointed.’

‘Where is he?’ Eleyne could not stop herself from asking.

Joanna smiled. ‘Of course. You are anxious to deliver your messages. He will join us tomorrow or the next day. We didn’t know how long it would take you to ride north –’ She smiled. ‘You have made as good speed as the royal messengers. Alexander thought you might ride more slowly. He did not wish to be here when you arrived. It was me you were coming to see in the world’s eyes. But we will send messages at once for him to come. He is only at Cupar.’

X
KINGHORN

The king was in the small room off the great hall which he used for his private office when he summoned Eleyne the next afternoon. Closeted with her aunt, she had not even known he had arrived.

The chamberlain who had shown her into the room left them, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him. They were alone, save for the great hound which lay in front of the fire. She dropped a low curtsey.

The king had been standing by the window reading a letter in the dull, stormy light. He turned to her with a smile and threw the letter down on the table. The cluster of candles in the huge silver candelabra smoked in the draught. ‘So, Lady Chester.’ For a moment he did not move; he stared at her with a frown.

His silence unnerved her completely. ‘I have letters, your grace.’ Nervously she held the two letters out to him. The evening before she had unpicked them herself from her bodice, in the flickering candlelight before she went to bed. They had spent the night beneath her pillow.

‘How are you, Eleyne?’ He did not make a move to take the letters and she was left holding them out in front of her. Her hand dropped slowly back to her side.

‘I am well, uncle, thank you.’

‘And your husband?’

She looked down at the floor, praying he could not see how agitated she was. ‘He is well too. He sends his loyal greetings.’

Her hands were growing clammy. She swallowed and tried to smile.

‘Are you enjoying the role of royal messenger?’ He seated himself on the edge of the table, lounging now, his hands clasped around his knee. She could see that the heavy gold thread of the embroidery on the hem of his mantle was snagged and torn. The garment was damp and muddy from his ride.

‘Very much, sire.’

‘I suspected you would enjoy being a spy.’ He smiled. ‘Are you ready to go and worm secrets out of your Uncle Henry at the English court?’ His tone was humorous, but there was an underlying note of seriousness in the words. ‘I would appreciate a woman’s view of the world. I suspect your sex sees with a clearer eye sometimes than we poor men. We huff and we argue and we pick at the minutiae of our quarrels and we don’t always stand back and see the greater picture. Your mother was ever a great help to your father. She has always had her brother’s ear. Do you have it too?’

Eleyne hesitated. ‘I hardly know my uncle, your grace. We have met often since I was married, of course, but never spoken much. I think he likes me, but –’ she shrugged – ‘I have been just a lady of the court, or once or twice his hostess, no more.’

‘But he speaks freely in front of you?’

‘Only in so far as he speaks freely before anyone at his table or at his side. I have never been admitted to his discussions with his advisers.’

‘Nor with your husband?’

She shook her head.

Alexander frowned. ‘Then you must practise using a little more of your charm on him. Wheedle a little, I am sure you are good at wheedling.’ He smiled again, his eyes narrowing mischievously.

She could feel herself blushing. Without realising it she had begun to twist the letters in her hands.

He folded his arms. ‘You get on well with Joanna. I’m glad. She’s had a sad time.’

Eleyne searched his face for any sign that he had guessed Joanna’s news. ‘She seems much more cheerful,’ she said guardedly, ‘I am glad she is in such good health.’

‘Did she tell you she was breeding again?’

He went to stand before the fire, rubbing his hands together slowly. The dog thumped its tail a couple of times and lay still. ‘Aye, I can tell she did. It’s all in her head. The physicians have told me. She’s not with child and not likely to be.’ He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘So, lassie, unless things change radically, if anything happens to me, you will be the next Queen of Scots.’

He turned his back on the fire and studied her again, noting her troubled face. ‘What’s the matter? Does the idea not please you?’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘I should hate anything to happen to you …’

He roared with laughter. ‘So should I, believe me! Here, give me those letters before you knead them to pulp.’ He reached out and took them from her hand. For a moment their fingers touched, then he turned away to the table.

She stood by the fire gazing down into the flames while he read. The wood burned with the green salt flame of beached timber collected on the strand. As it dried and split and turned to ash-drawn squares, she watched the flames lick and devour and race one another into the smoke. Outside, the rain lashed the walls and splattered through the open window on to the floor. The shutter lay against the wall where the king had put it when he removed it to see better in the gloom. Near it a puddle began to form on the stone flags. The dog sighed and smacked its lips in its sleep.