Kingdom of Shadows (104 page)

‘What do you mean?’ Paul stepped forward. Suddenly his stomach was churning.

‘What do you think I mean?’ Rex threw the paper down on the desk. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to fall for that? You know, I’m beginning to think you’re the one that is mad, Royland. Quite, quite, mad.’ He turned and stalked out of the office, still laughing.

Paul grabbed the paper with shaking hands. He stared at it. There at the bottom of the page, in the space he had marked with a cross, was the one word ISOBEL in spidery, Gothic script.

He stared at it in disbelief. The bitch! The scheming, clever bitch! Even in her fear she could fool him! Why had he been such an idiot? Why hadn’t he checked? How could he have been so confident? He picked up the paper and tore it across twice, tears of frustration in his eyes.

She had beaten him! He was through. There was nothing he could do. Even if Sigma hadn’t made the discovery themselves, he had told Cummin, now, that the papers he had sent them were forged. He was finished.

Suddenly he began to laugh.

He closed his case slowly and as he did so his eye fell again on the rifle propped up in the corner. Grant was criminally irresponsible leaving it there. Someone might have stolen it. He moved across the room and picked it up, weighing it in his hands. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship – the polished stock smooth as silk beneath his hand.

 Slowly he felt in his pocket for a cartridge and slipped it into the breach.

The afternoon was nearly over, the sun almost gone, the snow streaked red from the sunset. The castle ruins were shadowy and dark, mysterious in front of the soft night-blue of the sky. He could hear the sea sighing at the foot of the cliffs. Somewhere a sea gull called out, a ringing, laughing cry which echoed amongst the ancient stones.

Then he saw her. Clare. Standing in the ruins of the old chapel, staring out towards the cliffs, and behind her another woman, a woman in a long cloak who moved slowly away from her into the dusk. He frowned, staring into the shadows. Was that Isobel? Had she shown herself to him at last? He shook his head with a shiver. Whoever it was she had gone, and Clare was alone. He didn’t ask himself how she had got there, or what she was doing. He just watched her. She hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, gloating. Gloating over a pile of stones that could have saved him.

All his rage and self-pity and resentment boiled to the surface. Clare, in the mink coat he had bought her with his money, was probably laughing at him at this very moment. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and took slow and careful aim. She was moving now, hands in pockets, walking with a light, swinging gait – happy –

He squeezed the trigger so lightly that it was a surprise when the deafening report rang out. The figure in his sights dropped to the ground.

He smiled. Then slowly and methodically he took another cartridge from his pocket. He loaded it and turning the gun, slipped the cold satin-smooth steel of the muzzle into his mouth. For a split second he wondered if the kiss of a gun would be more pleasant than the kiss of a woman.

Then he pulled the trigger.

34

Isobel received King Robert in the castle great hall. A slim, solitary figure, swathed in a blue cloak – upright, proud, a little afraid – she was determined that he would never know how her heart was crying out to him. For a moment she didn’t move, standing near the huge driftwood fire, her eyes fastened on his face, then as he stepped forward she came to him hesitantly and taking his outstretched hand she sank to her knees.

‘I am so pleased to see your grace.’

Behind them his three companions tactfully turned their backs, making for the huge fire in the eastern wall of the hall. The castle servants were less meticulous, staring openly as the tall, handsome King, greying now, his face marked by suffering, stooped and raised her to her feet.

‘My Isobel. I thought I would never see you again.’ His eyes sought hers again as she raised her face to his. ‘Holy Virgin! When I heard what they had done to you I thought I would go mad!’

‘They did the same to Mary and your little Marjorie.’ Isobel could feel her heart slamming beneath her ribs.

He gave a half smile. It was very grim. ‘They were released from their cages long since, thank the Lord – but they are still captive.’ He did not mention his wife, Elizabeth, who was also still in England, and neither did she.

‘I had thought I was still captive, too.’ Isobel gave a faint smile.

‘You are, my love.’ The last two words slipped out so naturally that neither noticed. ‘At least, your fair jailer, the titular Countess of Buchan, and I have reached an agreement. Duncairn stands in a part of the country I hold, but for a while I am content to allow the castle a nominal English overlord!’ He smiled. ‘We are to share rights, your Alice and I.’

‘Rights over who holds me?’ She spoke in a whisper.

‘Tonight I shall hold you.’ He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘And I share that right with no one.’ He swung to face the hall.

‘My friends – I leave you to amuse yourselves,’ he called to his companions. ‘Lady Isobel and I have much to talk about in private.’ He took her hand. ‘Will you show me your solar, my lady?’

They talked until the night closed in around the castle, the darkness lying softly over the sea and over the cliffs, lapping with the cold dew over the walls as in the hall below the flares were lit and the fires piled high. It grew late. They nibbled the foods she ordered brought to them from the kitchens, and drank some wine, and remembered the time they first kissed, here, in the chapel at Duncairn. Then at last he led her gently towards her bedchamber.

She never asked him why he had not tried to rescue her; she did not mention Christian of Carrick or their children, nor ask about his exploits over the years. He talked of some things. Of friends lost, and friends found again, of Isobel’s mother, happy as far as Robert knew, far away in England, of her great grandmother who like so many others in those fearful years, had disappeared, never to be heard of again after Kildrummy had fallen, of battles and defeat and then of victory; surely and slowly victory after victory as more and more of the country was clawed back from the English. He did not mention his brothers’ fearful deaths, and neither did she. He spoke most of all of the future – of the time when he would throw the English finally and for ever out of Scotland and give his country back her liberty. Of their future together he did not speak and she did not even think. As he gently unlaced her gown and drew it down over her still-thin body, and then removed her shift, all she cared about was the present, snatched from fate.

He touched her with gentle hands, then drew her down on to the bed, pulling the feather-filled covers over their heads before he touched his lips at last to hers.

He stayed two days and nights at Duncairn that cold November, then he rode away. She waved to him from beneath the gatehouse arch until he was out of sight, then she turned back into the castle. He had promised that he would come back.

Three weeks later the first snow of the winter fell, and three weeks after that she knew that she was carrying the King’s child …

‘I have to find him! He has to know about the baby. He must …’

Clare had scrambled to her feet. She turned to the door and, leaving the candle burning on its saucer, she opened it and listened. The house was silent.

‘Chloe? Chloe? Where are you?’ She ran down the stairs and across the hall, into the drawing room. There was no one there. Sobbing, she turned desperately towards the kitchen. There was no one there either. The house was empty. ‘Chloe? I have to find him. I have to tell Robert about the baby!’ She looked into her step-father’s study and the dining room. ‘Chloe? Where are you? I have to find him, don’t you see?’

There was no reply.

Grabbing a coat from the hook in the hall she pulled open the front door. ‘Chloe?’

The snow was falling thickly again and she stared at it confused. She had forgotten that it was snowing. ‘Chloe?’

Without thought of where she was going she set off up the drive, not feeling the soft snow catching on the hem of her nightgown and seeping through her leather slippers, not bothering to button the coat. Behind her her footprints were almost at once obliterated by the swiftly falling snow.

Chloe and Geoffrey stared aghast at the open front door.

‘Clare! I was so sure she would sleep for hours. We should have known there’d be no trains.’ While Geoffrey paid off the taxi that had brought them back from their abortive trip to the station on their vain attempt to get Geoffrey back to London, she flew upstairs. When Geoffrey joined her she was staring down at the guttering candle in the empty bedroom.

‘Where do you think she’s gone?’ Chloe spoke in a whisper.

‘I don’t know.’ Geoffrey stood glumly looking down, his hands in his pockets. ‘I was so sure it had worked. I thought Isobel was at peace.’ He sounded stunned.

‘We can’t be sure that she isn’t.’ Chloe stooped and picked up the saucer. She looked doubtful. ‘She could be sleepwalking, anything. We’ve got to find her, Geoff. She’s in no state to be outside.’

He nodded, turning towards the door. ‘The candle was still alight so she can’t have been gone for long. She must have left tracks in the snow.’

But it was snowing heavily still, thick, soft snow which blanketed the ground and muffled their footsteps, hiding their own tracks moments after they had made them.

Geoffrey stood outside the front door staring round. ‘It’s so hard to see. You can still make out the marks of the taxi, and here, our steps milling round – and here –’ He shook his head. ‘It’s no good, Chloe. Further on there are no marks at all. There is no sign.’

Chloe was fighting back her panic. Reluctantly she followed her husband back inside. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Geoffrey ran his hand across his hair. ‘We’ll search the grounds, do a sweep of the gardens, and search the –’ he paused with a glance at his wife. ‘We have to search the river bank. Then, if there is still no sign of her we’ll have to get help.’ He reached for his heavy coat again. ‘Find some boots and wrap up warm. It will be getting dark soon.’

‘Geoffrey, I want to ring her boyfriend, Neil. She might have tried to go to him.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘I suppose she might, but what about Paul?’

‘What about Paul? He and Clare are finished, Geoff. You know that as well as I do.’

‘I suppose so.’ He nodded reluctantly. ‘But I can’t condone adultery, Chloe, or divorce.’

‘Then just for once, turn a blind eye.’ She was unexpectedly irritable.

Geoffrey bit his lip. He smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I know I’m being pompous again. And now is not the time. Do you know where this Neil is? How are you going to get hold of him?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said miserably. ‘I just don’t know.’

 * * *

Neil was tired after the long drive from Edinburgh to Duncairn, and his eyes ached from the glare of the sun on the snow.

It was just beginning to fall again as he pulled in beside Paul’s Range Rover and sat for a moment staring at it. Beyond it there were two other cars. He opened the door and climbed out.

There was a man in the hall, wearing a uniform with a Sigma on the breast pocket. He stepped forward as Neil walked in.

‘I’m sorry, sir, the hotel is closed. I must ask you to leave straight away.’

Somewhere behind him Neil could hear a child crying.

He frowned. ‘Where is Jack Grant?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, he can’t see anyone just now.’ The man was agitated.

‘Look, I’m a friend of his. He’ll see me –’ Neil broke off as a door opened and Jack looked out into the hall.

He stared at Neil, barely recognising him. ‘I thought maybe the police had arrived –’

‘What the hell is going on here –?’ Neil strode towards him. ‘Jack? What’s happened?’

Jack slumped down on the wooden settle by the front door. He made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘Paul Royland. He shot his sister and then he killed himself.’

Neil stared at him. ‘Shot himself,’ he repeated, dazed. ‘Dear God! Are they … Are they both dead –?’

Jack shrugged. ‘She was still alive. Just. Bill here rushed her to Aberdeen in the helicopter with our doctor.’ He shook his head, barely able to speak. ‘She’s critically ill. I left the gun in my office … I never dreamed he’d come back for it … It never occurred to me. Not for a second.’ His hands were shaking badly. ‘I don’t know what possessed him. Dear God, I just don’t know.’

‘When did it happen?’ Neil didn’t know why he asked, but suddenly it seemed important to know.

Jack shrugged. ‘An hour ago perhaps – I don’t know. Perhaps more. Bill just brought the doc back from the hospital. We all heard the shots. We were round the side, sledging in the snow with the wee lassie –’ His voice broke and he put his head in his hands.

‘Clare!’ Neil stared round suddenly. ‘Where is Clare?’

Jack shrugged. ‘She’s not here. He came back alone, Mr Cummin said.’

‘Cummin? Rex Cummin? What is he doing here?’ Neil’s eyes narrowed.

‘He was here with Mrs Cassidy. Clare seems to have asked him for Christmas too –’

Neil found that he was shaking suddenly. He sat down next to Jack. ‘Do the police know?’

Jack nodded. ‘Bill got them on his radio.’

‘I can understand Paul Royland killing himself, I suppose – but his sister? Why in God’s name try to kill his sister?’

‘God knows.’ Jack shook his head.

It was as they were walking towards Jack’s little office that Neil saw Clare’s mink coat lying on the chair. It was covered in blood. For a moment he stood staring at it in horror, then he turned back to Jack, his face pale. ‘Where did that coat come from?’

‘Mrs Cassidy was wearing it,’ Bill volunteered. ‘The hospital told me to bring it away.’ For a moment all three men stood looking down at it, then at last Neil spoke. ‘Paul Royland thought he was killing his wife,’ he said softly.

‘You mean it was a mistake?’ The broken voice from the staircase made them all look round. Rex was standing there, his eyes red, his whole body slumped with anxiety. When they took Emma to the hospital the doctor had quietly insisted that he stay with Julia. He didn’t want the distraught man in the small cabin of the helicopter with them. ‘Emma knew – she knew he was capable of killing Clare. That was why she begged me … she begged me …’ His voice broke and he shook his head, unable to go on.