Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine

stared at the red-haired child astride the stallion, but no one recognised her and no one tried to stop her. Sitting very straight, her heart in her mouth, she smiled as confidently as she could at the guard as she turned the horse beneath the gatehouse arch. His hooves rang loud and hollow for a moment, then they were through and across the bridge. Holding her breath, she nudged Invictus into a trot, then a canter, turning east along the edge of the wharf rather than back into the city itself, following the road towards the city wall.

      She was stopped almost at once by the Bridge Gate, which was still barred. As she turned uncertainly northwards into the city, she heard a shout behind her. In a panic she saw four horsemen galloping after her, weaving through the crowds. They wore the livery of the Earl of Chester over their mail. Desperately she looked round for a place to hide, but within seconds they were on her, two each side. Outraged, Invictus reared up and she grabbed at his mane to stop herself falling.

      They took her straight to Lord Huntingdon. She was still barefoot, her hair loose, dressed only in her shift and bed gown – a dirty, unruly and stubborn child, her cheeks streaked by tears.

      He looked at her for a long time after he had dismissed her escort. At last he spoke. ‘Where were you going, Eleyne?’ he asked gently.

      She stared back at him defiantly. She had expected him to be angry, not gentle. ‘To the forest.’

      ‘The forest?’ he repeated, astonished. ‘Why?’

      ‘I won’t live here without Rhonwen. I can’t. I’d rather be an outlaw or a beggar.’ Tears began to trickle down her cheeks in spite of her efforts to stop them. ‘I don’t want to be a countess. I want Rhonwen.’

      John walked across to his chair and sat down, perplexed. He didn’t know what to do to comfort her, this ragged urchin who was his wife.

      ‘Please, Eleyne, don’t cry.’ He knew he should be angry. Probably he should whip her. Certainly he should send her for a bath. The child smelt strongly of the stables.

      ‘Please don’t send Rhonwen away.’ Her huge eyes, fixed on his face, were brimming with tears. ‘Please, my lord –’ She still didn’t know how to address this tall stranger who was her husband. ‘Please let Rhonwen stay.’ Her sleepless night and the weight of her tears had reddened her eyes and underlined them with shadows.

      He frowned. Certainly he regretted his summary dismissal of the entire Welsh entourage. Lord Chester was wrong. Such an action would antagonise the prince and needlessly make this child unhappier than she already was.

      He rubbed his thumb against his chin. ‘We are to travel across England to my lands in the Honour of Huntingdon, Eleyne. Would she wish to follow you there? She would find it very strange so far from Wales,’ he said at last.

      Eleyne stared at him, her eyes alight with hope. ‘She would go with me anywhere, my lord.’ She did not point out that she too would find it strange.

      ‘Then perhaps I could change my mind and allow a few of your servants to remain with you. If it would make you happy and stop you running away again.’

      ‘Luned and Marared and Ethil?’ The girl’s eyes were shining.

      He nodded tolerantly. ‘Very well. If it will convince you to stay with me you may keep half a dozen of your own ladies. But that is all– ’

      ‘And Cenydd. Cenydd saved my life when I swam the strait.’

      ‘When you – what?’ He blinked at her in astonishment.

      Abashed she looked down. She should not have told him that. ‘My father asked him to be my bodyguard,’ she amended cautiously. ‘He would die to protect me.’

      ‘There are many here whose job will be to protect you with their lives,’ he said gently. And he would want to know today exactly where they all were, to allow the Countess of Huntingdon to ride out of the castle as she had without an escort. ‘But, yes, for now you may keep Cenydd too. But that is all.’

      For a moment he thought she would fling her arms around his neck and kiss him but she remembered in time. Looking down, she gave a little curtsey. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said.

      X

      From the high window in the castle keep Eleyne and Rhonwen watched the huge train of wagons and carts move out of the courtyard. They were both numb with misery as this last link with home and Wales disappeared beneath the gatehouse arch with its massive portcullis, and headed west towards the ford which crossed the Dee.

      Eleyne’s head ached; her limbs felt like lead. If they could get away, lose themselves in the corridors and passages of the great castle, perhaps even now they could hide in the carts and be smuggled home.

      The Earl of Huntingdon watched her for a long time from the doorway as she stood in the window embrasure with Rhonwen. Allowing Rhonwen and her companions to stay had helped Eleyne a little – his eyes went to the woman’s protective arm around the child’s narrow shoulders – but the frozen misery on the child’s face, the lost bewilderment in her eyes, touched him deeply. She was his, this little girl, his to do with as he pleased. His countess, his child bride. Somehow he had to win her trust and if possible her affection.

      ‘Eleyne?’ Although he spoke her name gently, both women jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Lady Rhonwen can go to Lady Chester for now, my dear. I should like you to come down to the stables.’

      One of his grooms had told him of the midnight visit; the tears, the anguished cuddling of the horses. With admiration, he had reported her fearless mounting of the great stallion, and Lord Huntingdon had seen a way of reaching her.

      ‘The stables?’

      He saw with satisfaction the sudden light in her eyes and he nodded. ‘Your father gave me several horses as a gift and you have your own there too. I should like to look them over.’ He held out his hand and, hesitating, she went to him.

      Invictus whickered his usual welcome as she ducked into his box, her velvet skirts catching on the straw. Lord Huntingdon smiled. ‘He obviously knows you well.’

      Eleyne nodded. ‘Sir William …’ Her voice wavered and she bit her lip, unprepared for the wave of misery which the mention of his name brought. ‘Sir William used to let me ride him. He … he gave him to me before …’ her sobs tightened her throat, ‘before they hanged him.’

      Lord Huntingdon raised an eyebrow. ‘So, this was de Braose’s horse?’

      Eleyne nodded numbly. ‘My father wanted you to have him.’ Her despair at losing her treasured inheritance after so short an ownership was obvious in her voice.

      ‘He is not a lady’s horse, Eleyne.’ He smiled at her. Nor a slip of a child’s were the words he left unsaid.

      ‘No.’ Her reply was barely audible.

      ‘You must ride well if Sir William allowed you to ride him,’ he persisted gently. Lord Chester’s men-at-arms had told him as much.

      She nodded. The germ of an idea had lodged in her mind. ‘Could we go for a ride now?’ She looked her husband in the eye for the first time. ‘Please?’

      He looked down at her, amused. ‘I don’t see why not.’

      ‘And could I ride Invictus?’

      ‘Ah, I see. You want to show me you are the mistress of my new stallion.’

      She nodded shyly. ‘I used to race against Sir William,’ she said hopefully.

      ‘Did you indeed?’ He grimaced. ‘I fear I don’t have Sir William’s prowess in the saddle, but we could certainly ride.

      ‘Saddle him, and my horse too.’ He turned to the groom who hovered behind them. ‘Do you wish to change, my lady?’ He smiled.

      Eleyne glanced down at her velvet skirts