Insurrection: Renegade [02] (40 page)

‘You have no idea how hard it is when you are gone, Robert. I’m moved from one town to the next, all the while trying to take care of your daughter.’ Elizabeth lifted her hands. ‘You do not see what she becomes. Now you are with us, Marjorie is an angel. When you’re gone – well, the devil himself would find it hard to keep pace with her.’

‘King Edward has ordered me to check on my sheriffdoms and has given me licence to rebuild Turnberry. I cannot refuse my duty to him or my tenants just because you find it difficult dealing with a child. You have Judith to help you.’

Elizabeth lowered her voice further so the women in the next room couldn’t hear. ‘Marjorie is too old for a nurse. She needs a governess. When I was her age I could read scripture, play chess, sing and embroider.’ She continued quickly as he went to speak. ‘Lady Bess knows a woman, the wife of one of Humphrey’s squires, who has taught children in several noble families. She can read Latin and French. Judith can stay as Marjorie’s nurse, but your daughter needs someone to teach her. And a firm hand.’

There was a knock at the door. As it opened, Robert saw two of his porters.

‘Sir, the wagon is ready,’ said one. He nodded to the chests stacked against the wall. ‘Shall we start loading these?’

Robert nodded. As the porters hefted the trunk that contained his mail and carried it out of the room, he looked back at Elizabeth. ‘I don’t have time to discuss this now. We’ll talk when I’m back.’

‘When will that be? Two weeks? Two months?’

Robert crossed to the bed where he’d left his marten-trimmed riding cloak – a wedding gift from her father. He noticed Elizabeth had folded it neatly for him and felt an unwelcome stab of guilt. ‘I need to oversee the reconstruction at Turnberry, then check on the defences in Lanark and Ayr.’ He shook out the garment and swung it around his shoulders. ‘I’ll be a month at most.’

‘Then let me return to Writtle. Marjorie seemed to like it there. My squires are more than capable of escorting us.’

‘No,’ said Robert, more roughly than he’d intended. The last thing he wanted was his wife and daughter back in England.

The real truth behind his request for the king to grant him leave to travel to Turnberry was his desire to make contact with James Stewart. Rothesay had fallen to Ulster’s forces during the summer campaign and the whereabouts of the steward were currently unknown, at least to the English, but Robert thought his family’s old allies in the west, the MacDonalds of Islay, might be able to help track him down. These past weeks in Dunfermline, the snows banking up against the abbey walls, he had become increasingly impatient to begin his search. His hope, if Wallace could raise an army like the one he’d summoned for Stirling and if he could add his vassals to such a force, was that they could make a stand and turn back the English. Now the threat of Balliol’s restoration was ended, it was the moment for action. Caution had only got him so far. It was time to throw it to the wind.

Wallace was the steward’s vassal and if anyone could persuade the man to work with him to this end it would be James. But, the moment Robert made any such move, the lies he had built around himself would come crashing down and the king and his men would see him for what he was: a traitor, who had betrayed them twice. Elizabeth and Marjorie could not be in England when his deception was revealed. Nothing he cared about could.

Elizabeth moved towards him. ‘If not Writtle, then take us with you to Turnberry.’

‘You expect me to take my wife and daughter through the heart of a land at war?’

At this she drew herself up. ‘You’ve done it before.’

Robert stared at her, his brow knotting in question. When he realised she was referring to their flight across Ireland, his anger boiled over. ‘Your memory fails you, Elizabeth. You forced me to take you that night. What choice was I given?’

She seemed to want to retract what she’d said, holding up her hand, trying to speak. Robert wouldn’t let her. He had wanted to say this for a long time.

‘You trapped us both in this marriage. As your father told you, you made this bed for yourself. You’ll damn well lie in it!’

Elizabeth’s pale cheeks coloured. ‘I try to, but you keep that bed so cold.’ Her voice rose. ‘And I’m not the only one to blame for this sorry marriage. Lest you forget, husband, you held a sword to my throat that night. You used me to get away, just as I used you. My father was punishing us both.’ At this, the fire seemed to go out of her. She slumped on the window seat. ‘My father was angry, yes, but he wouldn’t have arranged our marriage unless he believed such an alliance would benefit both our families.’ She glanced up at Robert. ‘I want to prove him right. Make amends for what I did. But I cannot do it alone.’

How little she knew, thought Robert, looking down at her. The ambitious Richard de Burgh had agreed to the marriage, not because Robert would make a good husband, but because one day he might make her queen. He felt some of his anger towards her drain, replaced by weariness. He didn’t want to make her unhappy, but until he gained the throne, his wife and daughter had to come second. As long as they remained safe and ignorant, that was all that mattered. He went to speak, meaning to tell her he would find a governess for Marjorie, but there was another knock at the door. He turned sharply. ‘Come!’

When it opened, Robert, expecting to see his porters, was surprised to see a young page. His tunic bore the blue and gold chequered arms of Robert Clifford.

‘I bring a message from my master, sir,’ the page ventured, glancing from Robert to Elizabeth, who had her head in her hand. ‘He says you are hereby ordered to undertake a royal mission with him and Sir Ralph de Monthermer.’

‘What mission?’

‘My lord said to tell you that you weren’t to leave for Turnberry as planned. He will speak to you himself in due course.’

Unease unfurled in Robert as he wondered why he had been chosen for another assignment when the king had already granted him leave. ‘Very well.’ He held his temper until the page had closed the door, then thumped his fist into his palm. ‘
Damn it!
’

Elizabeth started at his shout. Lifting her head from her hand, she watched as he paced.

After a moment, Robert stopped. If Ralph was going on this mission, he probably knew more about it. He was certain the knight would tell him if pressed. ‘I must attend to this.’

Elizabeth nodded in silence.

Robert turned down the passage that led to the room Ralph had been billeted in. Reaching it he knocked, determined to get what he could out of the knight. There was no response. He knocked again. Still no answer. Frustrated, he went to move off. As he did so, he heard a muffled laugh. His suspicion piqued, Robert tried the door, which opened at his touch.

In the room beyond, a pallet bed covered with crumpled blankets stood against one wall. Chests were piled on top of one another and a candle flickered on a stand beside two goblets and a jug. In the centre of the room were two figures. One had his back to him, but Robert knew Ralph by his dark curly hair. The other, a woman, took him a moment more to recognise. It was Joan of Acre, the king’s eldest daughter. She and Ralph were locked in an embrace. At Robert’s appearance they pulled apart as if wrenched by invisible hands.

‘
Christ – Robert!
’ hissed Ralph, moving in front of Joan.

The princess was wearing only a gauzy chemise, through which Robert could see the swell of her breasts. In her mid-thirties, like Ralph, she was a tall, statuesque woman with the same long limbs as her sister, Bess. Her black hair was loose around her shoulders, undressed and unbound.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Ralph’s face was red.

Behind him, Joan moved to the bed and snatched up an ermine-trimmed mantle which she wrapped around her shoulders, pulling it close against her chest.

Robert lifted his hands. ‘My apologies, Ralph. Lady Joan,’ he added, glancing at the princess, who levelled him with her stare. ‘I knocked, but no one answered.’

Joan said nothing, but slipped past Ralph and headed for the door. When Robert moved aside she hastened away down the passage, clasping the mantle over the chemise.

‘Close the door, for God’s sake,’ growled the knight, turning and going to the stand, where he took one of the goblets and drained its contents. His undershirt was open at the neck and the skin of his chest glistened with sweat, though the bare room was chilly.

Closing the door, Robert watched as Ralph poured another measure. He was stunned. He had known the royal knight for years and would never have guessed he was involved in such a dangerous affair. A knight of the royal household, swiving the king’s daughter? Edward would flay him alive for the dishonour.

‘Swear to me you won’t tell a soul,’ said Ralph, when he’d finished the wine.

‘How long has this been going on?’

The knight shook his head. ‘A few years now,’ he said finally. ‘Since the death of Gilbert de Clare.’ He tossed the empty goblet on the rumpled bed and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I love her, Robert.’

‘You’re out of wedlock.’

Ralph scowled. ‘That doesn’t stop half the men in this court. Most of the earls of England have illegitimate children tucked away on a manor somewhere.’

‘I doubt any of the mothers are the king’s daughters. Joan isn’t just some wench, Ralph. She’s one of Edward’s prized possessions.’

Ralph exhaled and looked him in the eye. ‘What will you do?’

‘I’ll keep my mouth shut is what I’ll do.’ As Ralph’s face filled with hope, Robert held up his hand. ‘If you’ll tell me what this mission the king is ordering me on is. I’m being sent somewhere with you and Clifford. I take it you know of it?’

‘Of course.’ Ralph looked surprised, his shoulders slumping in evident relief at such a trifling condition. ‘One of the prisoners taken in Cumberland gave up the location of Wallace’s base in Selkirk. The king wants us to lead a mounted raid into the Forest. We are to hunt down and capture the rebel leaders, Wallace and John Comyn, then destroy the camp.’

Robert fought to keep his emotions hidden. ‘Then an end to this war may not be long in coming?’

‘God willing.’ Ralph paused. ‘There’s one thing you should know. I’ll give it to you in return for your pledge of silence. It was Aymer’s idea that you be in this company. From what I heard, he petitioned the king to be allowed to lead it himself with the intention of testing your loyalty. The king denied his request; he, as the rest of us, is becoming irritated by Aymer’s obsession with you. But King Edward will expect you to hunt down your countrymen with as much ferocity as the rest of us do.’

Robert nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘You swear it?’ called Ralph, as Robert turned to go.

‘I swear it.’ As he opened the door, Robert realised he had one of the king’s men in his debt. And he was no longer the only deceiver in this court of wolves.

Aymer de Valence strode along the passageway, rigid with anger. The king’s decision to send Clifford and Ralph into Selkirk had infuriated him, especially since it had clearly been done just to spite him. How the king could not understand his intentions were in the best interests of them all, he could not fathom. Robert Bruce was a snake in the grass, a wolf in a lambskin. A Judas. Why could no one see this but him?

Bruce might have gone up against Comyn’s forces in Cumberland without compunction, but it had not been a true test of his loyalty, since Wallace had fled the field before Bruce had time to engage. In Selkirk he would be pitted against the rebel leader – a man whose company he had joined when he first deserted, a man he had subsequently knighted with his own sword. In short, a friend. Faced with capturing Wallace and destroying the rebels’ base, Aymer had no doubt Bruce would reveal his true colours. He had wanted to be there to watch for the slip of the mask he felt certain the bastard was wearing, but since Edward had refused him, he would have to try the next best thing.

Ralph had been a comrade of Bruce’s when they were Knights of the Dragon and was clearly beginning to trust him again. Aymer knew he would have to tread carefully in order to convince him to watch the earl, would have to keep a rein on his hatred so Ralph would see him as well-meaning. It was going to be difficult. But he had to do something. He wouldn’t sit idly by and allow Bruce to betray them again. Aymer flicked his tongue over the wire that held his front teeth together. He would see the bastard hang before that happened.

Reaching a fork in the gloomy passage, he turned around it. A figure was outside the door to Ralph’s lodging. The devil himself. Robert Bruce. Cursing beneath his breath, Aymer stepped back around the corner. After a pause, hearing the creak of a door, he peered round to see Bruce entering the room. He thought he heard an exclamation from within. Wondering whether he should interrupt the meeting, he was surprised when a second figure hastened out moments later. It was Lady Joan.

Edward’s daughter was wearing a mantle that she clasped at her breast. As she hastened towards him, she pulled up the hood, but Aymer had time to see her hair falling loose around her shoulders. Time, too, to catch the swish of a gauzy chemise beneath the cloak. He slipped around the corner as she approached, pressing himself against the wall, but he needn’t have worried. Joan had her head down as she passed by. He caught a brief glimpse of her flushed cheeks and then she was gone. When Aymer looked back, Ralph’s door was closed.