Kingdom of Shadows (27 page)

Isobel felt herself grow cold beneath his gaze in the heat of the fetid room. Dozens of times he had taken her since that fated day in the winter when her prayers had been answered and her baby had died. Twice her courses had been late, and she had prayed and drunk potions of the dangerous savine which had made her retch and vomit and cramped her stomach, and the Blessed Virgin had saved her. It was not something she wanted to do again; each time she sipped the bitter mixture she knew she was endangering her own life.

‘Do you not intend to keep vigil in the chapel, my lord, before the battle?’ Her mouth had gone dry.

‘The battle won’t be for days. First we have to join forces with Wallace and his men.’ He tightened the belt around his waist. ‘God knows, it is humiliating to follow a man who is not even a nobleman, but he is a good soldier, I grant him that. And Guardian of the Realm. And we must wait for him. Without him we stand no chance against old Longshanks and his army.’ He sat down wearily on the coffer by the wall and watched her. His patience with her was gone. No longer did he try to cajole her or win her friendship. There was very little talk between them, save over the running of the household and the Buchan estates. Even there she disappointed him. She had little interest in the duties of a countess; none of her loyalty and family pride had been diverted from her own family to that of her husband. And yet his servants liked her. He heard nothing but good of her. His stewards and constables were competent in their jobs and protected their young mistress from her husband’s wrath. Chatelaines and housekeepers supervised the duties which should have been hers. There was only one duty she could not be spared.

She watched, frozen with dislike, as her husband, clad now in his loose robe, helped himself, as always before he bedded her, from a jug of wine on the table by the door. He took no pleasure in the raping of his wife.

Slowly, almost in a dream, she pulled off the fillet and silken net which held her hair in place, and let her mantle fall in the dry dusty heather. ‘Shall I call my maid to unlace me, my lord?’ she asked meekly. She knew by now she could never fight him. Whatever had to be done, must be done later, after he had gone.

He turned and looked at her over the rim of his goblet. Abruptly he set it down. ‘Come here. You have no need of a maid.’

Behind them the flare sizzled and spat in the sconce, adding to the heat of the room. She could smell the animal sweat on him as he spun her round and began to pull open the laces which held her gown closed. As the blue fabric rustled to her knees he turned her to face him again, pulling open the neck of her shift, and thrusting his hands in, he grasped her breasts.

She gritted her teeth, her eyes fixed on the wall beyond him as his mouth travelled down her neck and on towards the soft, shrinking nipple.

She heard herself gasp as he pushed her on to the high bed, but that was the only sound she made. Her pride would not let her cry out as he thrust into her. Instead she was thinking of the moon. At the first quarter her courses would come – in only four days time – and they would wash away his unwanted seed. There would be no need this time of the bitter life-threatening potions. Her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the window, she bit her lips and lay, cold and uninvolved, a marble statue in her misery as the sweating, heaving body possessed hers.

The attack came at dawn. The sudden violent shouts and yells, the clash of iron on steel, the scream of a man, cut off short, and then at last the deafening clanging of the bell from the watchman on the walls. Lord Buchan woke from his deep sleep and raised himself from his wife’s inert body. ‘God in Heaven, what’s that?’ He did not wait for an answer. Leaping naked from the bed he was already in his tunic when his men came to arm him.

‘It is the English, my lord! They cut down our patrols!’ The man gabbled as he tried frantically to lift the heavy mail. ‘The ladies were getting ready to leave in the bailey –’ He glanced, embarrassed, at the pale, naked woman in the bed, sitting clutching a crumpled sheet to her breasts.

Lord Buchan followed the man’s gaze. ‘Get dressed!’ he shouted at her angrily. ‘You should have been gone an hour since.’ Outside the narrow window the sky was already showing streaks of gold. He had meant only to bed her, try yet again to get a child on her, and leave her. Cursing his wife and his own exhaustion he snatched the embroidered surcoat with its emblazoned wheat sheaf from Thomas and pulled it on; then he was gone, walking awkwardly in his heavy armour as he ducked through the door and began to descend the winding stairs, followed by his men.

Isobel slipped from the bed and pulling off the sheet, wound it round her. She ran to the window and peered out. Below in the bailey all was chaos as men and horses milled around beneath the hail of arrows which descended from beyond the wall. From where she stood, high in the keep, she could see over the wall to the enemy who surrounded the castle on every side. She wasn’t afraid. The clash of swords and shouts of the men exhilarated her. She felt a sudden tremor of excitement which caught with her breath in her throat.

‘My lady!’ Mairi’s voice was angry and frightened. ‘
Dè tha
thu
‘
dèanamh?
Come away from the window! Do you want an arrow through your head!’

Reluctantly Isobel turned and stepped down from the embrasure. She was laughing. ‘They don’t appear to have many marksmen there. I see no signs of King Edward’s Welshmen. It’s only a small band on their way to join the main army.’

Mairi stared at her. ‘Blessed Mother! You are enjoying it!’ Her mistress’s face was alive with excitement.

Isobel laughed again. ‘I wish I had been born a man! To have been able to learn how to use a bow and a sword; to ride out into battle and fight for my country! Oh Mairi! I was born the wrong sex!’

‘I think you were, indeed, my lady.’ Mairi, helping her off with the sheet, was holding out her lady’s shift. She noted without comment the bruises which always followed a night with the earl.

‘Are we to be besieged?’ Isobel turned to allow Mairi to lace up her gown.

Mairi shrugged. ‘Lord Carrick was directing operations earlier. He said that they were only marauders. He said our men would break out and chase them off before any reinforcements came to help them. And as soon as they do that we must leave. The horses are ready, my lady, to take us north to Perth –’ she broke off at the sound of a step on the stair.

Robert, fully armed, stood in the doorway.

‘Lady Buchan? Why are you not below with the other women?’

She saw his eyes on her long, wild hair, as yet unbraided and she saw him swallow as he glanced beyond her to the tumbled bed.

‘I am almost ready, Lord Carrick.’ Meekly she lowered her eyes.

‘Be ready now, madam. As soon as we have created a diversion I want the women away. You. Leave us.’ He gave the order to Mairi curtly. She curtseyed and with a glance at Isobel she ran from the room.

Robert stepped forward. ‘You must go. But for God’s sake be careful. The countryside is alive with English soldiers.’

‘I’ll be all right.’ She bit her lip. ‘And God go with you.’ Lightly she put her hands on the cold steel of his shoulders and on tiptoe she kissed him on the lips. ‘Take care, my love. Take care. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’

‘Nothing will.’ Almost unwillingly he encircled her waist with his arm. ‘Nothing will, my Isobel. I intend to drive these devils from this land. Now go. Quickly.’ His kiss was hard and lingering. Then he pushed her away. ‘Don’t wait to put up your hair.’ For a moment a trace of grim humour showed in his eyes as he looked down at her, so much a tomboy still, for all she was the wife of a powerful earl. ‘Take a mantle and go. Now.’ His voice was curt. ‘See to it that the other ladies are mounted and ready to leave at once.’ And he was gone.

Isobel closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to steady herself, then obediently she picked up her mantle and flung it around her shoulders. Throwing a veil over her hair she ran down the stairs after him and into the great hall, but already he was gone, striding out amongst his men as they gathered in the shelter of the outer wall. She stared after him for a moment, then the heavy door of the keep swung to and hid him from sight.

‘So, my lady.’ Her husband had appeared suddenly behind her. ‘Lord Carrick will lead the counter attack.’ His eyes were fixed on her face. ‘And I am to lead the remainder of our men to escort you ladies north before joining Sir William Wallace.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I trust you have said your farewells. It will be a long time before you return south.’

10

‘I hope your husband won’t mind my taking you out like this, Mrs Cassidy.’ Rex ushered Emma through the door of the theatre. ‘It was just such a coincidence that I should have a spare ticket for this show and had been wondering who to take. Mary was so angry that she couldn’t come, and then Diane told me how much you had been trying to get hold of one before the show closed. It seemed too good to be true.’ He helped her off with her coat as they found their seats in the dress circle.

It had taken his secretary a morning’s strenuous telephoning to get the tickets, and then at an exorbitant price.

Emma was staring round. ‘I still can’t believe my luck.’ She glanced at him. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with a tanned, permanently youthful face belied by the shock of white hair. And he was extremely attractive. She made up her mind to enjoy herself.

By the interval she was aware that tickets to a show such as this were not something Rex Cummin would have normally come by.

‘You’re bored stiff!’ she accused as the lights came up.

‘Hey, come on.’ Sheepishly he stifled a yawn. ‘I guess I’m tired, that’s all.’

‘I thought Americans never got tired.’ She was teasing.

‘You’re right. I must up my vitamin quota. A nice bit of steak later will perk me up.’

‘Steak?’ She looked disgusted.

‘Emma.’ He looked at her in real despair. ‘Don’t tell me you are a vegetarian?’

‘No. But steak! Late in the evening! That will drain your energy and poison your system.’ She sounded amused.

‘Jesus!’ He stared at her. ‘So, where do you suggest we go?’

‘I’ll give it some thought.’ She settled back happily in her seat. She was enjoying herself – enormously.

He took her to a French restaurant in Knightsbridge in the end, just as he had originally planned. Sitting opposite one another they both watched in silence as the waiter poured their wine. After he had gone, Rex picked up his glass. ‘To us. I hope we can do this again.’

Emma smiled. ‘It’s been fun.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Tell me, how long have you known Diane?’

‘Since she was born. My wife and her mother knew one another as kids.’

‘And you are in the financial world too?’

‘No.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m in oil.’

‘Oil?’ She seemed intrigued but not suspicious.

He gauged her reaction carefully. ‘Sigma Exploration. You’ve probably heard of us.’

Emma shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about the oil business. I expect Peter knows you.’

Rex nodded. ‘I’m sure he’d have heard of us.’ He glanced up at her casually. ‘And of course your brother Paul will have. I’ll probably be meeting with him in the next few days. Is he as nice as you?’ He tried to keep the question light; humorous. He must not let her see how every nerve was strained for her answer.

Emma laughed. ‘He’s not nearly so beautiful as me, of course, but I expect he’s much cleverer, and they tell me he’s very good at his job. I don’t know if anyone would call him nice, though.’

He was surprised at the sudden bitterness in her voice. ‘Well, I guess I’ll find out soon enough.’ He changed the subject swiftly. There would be plenty of time to ask her about Paul and Clare Royland later. He had the rest of the evening to bring up the subject again.

‘I thought we might go on to a night-club,’ he said at last as they finished their coffee. ‘How would you like that?’

Emma’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’d love to. It’s ages since I went anywhere exciting. Peter hates anything of that sort.’

They had talked of every subject under the sun except the Roylands, even of his beloved Scotland, and somehow without mentioning Duncairn by name, of his ancestry, of which he was so proud, of the eight-hundred-year link the genealogists had dug up with the country’s past, of his passion for its heritage, and of his secret dream, unknown even by Mary, to own, one day, a piece of Scotland for himself. And she talked about Julia and Peter and her gallery, confiding in him as if she had known him all her life.

Rex intrigued her. He was a strange mixture. A mature, sophisticated man, slightly exotic, much travelled; the kind of person who assimilates a little of the best of every culture by which he is touched and metabolises it within himself into a stimulating mix of wit and intellect. And yet, at the same time, he had an adventurous, boyish streak, and a monumental enthusiasm which was enormously attractive. She felt herself respond alarmingly to his charm.

For a moment at the start of the meal she had wondered if he had asked her out just to find out something about Paul. His interest had somehow sharpened when he mentioned her brother’s name; but he hadn’t pursued the questions, and she was reassured.

She wondered what would happen when they reached the night-club. If he asked her to dance she had a feeling she would enjoy it rather more than she ought.

He took her to Tramp and ordered them champagne, lifting his hand in greeting as a party of compatriots inched their way between the tables towards the far side of the room.

Emma stared around her in excitement. ‘I’m not wearing the right clothes for this place,’ she wailed suddenly.

‘You look fine to me,’ Rex reassured her. ‘Really beautiful,’ he added with disarming sincerity.

Emma glanced at him. ‘Thank you.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘So do you. Let’s dance.’ She stood up, unable to resist it a moment longer and with mock reluctance Rex stood up and allowed himself to be dragged on to the dance floor.