Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine

back! She can’t come back!’ she cried out loud into the shadows. ‘Don’t you see? She has to go with him. She doesn’t belong to us any more.’

      IV

       DUNFERMLINE CASTLE June 1233

      The ferries and boats had carried them at last across the broad glittering waters of the River Forth, and in the distance they could see old King Malcolm’s castle of Dunfermline, with the abbey church silhouetted against the skyline.

      Eleyne looked at John. His face was white with exhaustion, but his eyes were bright and excited, his fists hard on the ornate reins of his horse’s bridle as he gazed up at the huge floating banner above the castle keep: the ramping lion of Scotland on its field of gold.

      They had ridden the eastern route, from York to Northallerton and Darlington, on to Durham and Newcastle and thence across the bridge over the Tweed at Berwick and into Scotland at last, growing more excited with every mile. Now the gates in the castle wall stood wide in welcome and as they rode towards them they could hear the heralds trumpeting their approach.

      Eleyne was breathless with anticipation as they dismounted in the courtyard and made their way into the great hall where the King and Queen of Scots stood together, waiting to greet them. Eleyne’s eyes went sympathetically to her aunt, trying to see a likeness to her mother in the slim, delicate woman who stood, a little apart from her husband, dressed in a gown of black. Joanna’s face was drawn and pale, her figure painfully thin beneath her mantle. There was no likeness to her half-sister, Joan, save in the eyes, the brilliant Plantagenet eyes, startling in the gentle face – eyes which were fixed on her and which, Eleyne realised with a shock, were far from friendly.

      She looked away hastily, her gaze going to the king, and she caught her breath in stunned shock. She knew him! His was the face she had seen a thousand times in her dreams. He was tall, as tall as John, with flaming gold hair and beard to match, and broad-shouldered beneath his mantle. John bowed to him and he stepped down off the dais and clapped his cousin on the shoulder.

      ‘So, you have brought your wife to meet us at last.’ Already he was holding out his hands to her. She took them hesitantly, knowing her own were trembling badly. Still overcome with shock and strangely breathless, she curtseyed low, her eyes on his face, dazzled by the golden splendour of the man. It was true. He was the man in her dreams, and he was the most attractive man she had ever seen.

      ‘Well, niece, how do you like Scotland?’ His voice was mellow as he raised her and kissed her cheek. ‘I hope you are going to cheer your aunt with your company. She’s been sad, these last weeks.’ He stared at her, open appreciation in his eyes, and she felt herself grow warm. Then his expression changed: ‘I know you.’ His voice was husky. ‘Sweet Virgin, but I know you from somewhere.’ Then he shook his head; the moment was gone.

      ‘Cousin,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘you didn’t tell me your countess was so beautiful. There won’t be a red-blooded man in the whole of Scotland who doesn’t fall in love with her!’ For a moment longer he gazed at her, a slight frown between his eyes, then he mounted the dais again, waving them to chairs and beckoning for wine to refresh them.

      Eleyne sat down; she was still shaking. So, he had felt it too, but how was that possible?

      The emotion was immediately followed by guilt. How could she be so disloyal to John? She glanced at her husband and saw that he had relaxed, melting, as she had under the king’s charm. Next to her the queen was silent, locked in her own misery, conscious that every man and woman in the great hall knew that the Earl of Chester was here as heir presumptive to the throne; that her failure to produce a child meant that, whatever reassurance she had been given that she would conceive again, they believed there would be no son now for Scotland’s king.

      She looked at Eleyne, so young and fresh and eager, her eyes glowing, her cheeks slightly flushed as she gazed at Alexander. She, now, was Scotland’s hope, and Joanna could feel her resentment welling up like poison inside her. Feeling Joanna’s eyes upon her, Eleyne looked at her aunt. For a moment they stared at one another, then Eleyne smiled. Impulsively she jumped to her feet and knelt beside the queen’s chair, catching her hands in her own. ‘I was so sorry …’

      The sympathy in Eleyne’s voice brought tears of self-pity to Joanna’s eyes. ‘You! Sorry?’ She rounded on the girl in her misery. ‘You should be pleased. You’ll be the one now to give Scotland an heir!’ Through her sobs her voice rang out loudly in the hall and there was a sudden silence around them.

      The king frowned. ‘Joanna, lass – ’

      ‘It’s true! So why pretend?’ Forgetting where they were, forgetting the protocol due on such a public occasion, Joanna jumped to her feet. She pushed past Eleyne and nearly knocked her over in her haste as she ran across the dais. She did not pause even to curtsey before her husband as she fled from the shocked eyes around her.

      Eleyne scrambled to her feet. ‘Oh please, wait …’ she called. She looked helplessly from John to the king. ‘Please, may I go after her? I didn’t mean to upset her.’ She was scarlet with embarrassment.

      Alexander smiled. For an instant his eyes seemed to caress her. ‘Aye, go after her if you wish. See if you can comfort her. I surely can’t.’ He sighed and turned back to John.

      A servant led her up to the queen’s bedchamber. Behind her Luned and three of her ladies ran to keep up as she hurried after the queen.

      Joanna was lying sobbing on the high bed, surrounded by her attendants as Eleyne came in.

      ‘Please, your grace – please, Aunt Joanna, don’t be upset.’ Ignoring the other women, Eleyne ran to the bed and caught the queen’s hands. ‘You’ll have other babies. I’m sure you will. You mustn’t mind us coming here. For the country’s sake it must be known that there is a man at hand to take over should anything happen to the king, which God and the Blessed Virgin forbid.’ She crossed herself hastily. ‘But that is for show. King Alexander will live for many many years and you will have many children, I’m sure of it.’